None Were Angels
by BooShooFasa
Summary: All Curtis and Roxanne Howe wanted was to build up their ranch to raise a family on. But will signing up for Builder's League United give them what they need to do all of this? AU story, with original characters. Oh lawdy why?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I haven't written fanfiction ever since I started student teaching in college. As you may imagine, it's a lot out of a person to learn, it's even more so to learn how to teach. Plus, my interests seem more fickle than anything, and have been changing drastically ever since my sister got an xbox.

That being said, I got my hands on TF2 and I'm in love with it. Unfortunately for the fandom, that means I began writing a fic in between my classes and work hours. However, my aim for this certain piece is for pure practice: I want to test my pace and word choice. Descriptions, character development...things along that line, and things that seem to be sorely lacking in fanfiction. Hopefully my oc's won't bother people if they keep to mind these things.

Also, make note that while this story IS a TF2 fic, they don't actually go into the fortresses until the fourth chapter. Why? Because I like character development, and first three chapters are purely for that. :I Thus I never uploaded until I did get to that chapter. You can skip if you want to that, but I don't recommend it.

Anyways, this is my latest fic. Consider all others on haitus until this is done.

Title: None Were Angels  
>Genre: Family, Romance, Humor, General<br>Characters: Curtis, Roxanne  
>Pairings: CurtisxRoxanne<br>Summary: All Curtis and Roxanne Howe wanted was to rebuild the old ranch Curtis's family left him to raise their family on. Money troubles left this dream near impossible, until Curtis is granted the opportunity to join Builder's League United, a shady business promising them enough money than they'll know what to do with.  
>Chapter One is mostly an introduction to both Curtis and Roxanne as well as the town they live in and it's residents. I'm not too fond with the pace, but this is more or less first drafts. I'll go revise later. Hurr.<br>Warnings: Curtis and Roxanne fluff moments. Also contains the prelude to sexy times. Oh mai.  
>Disclaimers: I don't own TF2 stuff, that belongs to Valve. IB<p>

* * *

><p>TOWN, 1970<p>

There had been a light rainfall last night, and the only remnants of it had been in the morning dew, which trickled still down blades of dull green and brown grasses. The barest hint of a breeze would pick up now and again, throw these droplets into the sifting dirt, and just like that it was gone.  
>Beneath the black of the night sky peeked the horizon line, slowly falling back from all the reds and oranges of the rising sun. Stars had long since extinguished, and the moon had traveled yet again to the other side of the sky.<p>

This time, the ascendant of dawn, was when young Robbie Smith left his house with a bag strapped over his shoulders, and a plan in his mind.  
>Young Robbie was still very much a boy: young faced, wiry, and fairly tall for his age. His eyes still held that childhood mischievousness, even behind all the tired the morning brings. Those same eyes scanned over the layout of the town where he lived, just as he did every morning.<p>

To the right of him, lay the business district where the only business the town had were family run enterprises, such as an old grocery store and a resturant.

To the left of Robbie lay a small group of rickety bungalows, just as old as the one he had left.

The bag on his shoulders was of course the reason he was out so early in the morning. All the letters, and all the packages meant to be delivered to the townsfolk were in them, and in this time where those letters were a source of great importance, they weighed heavier than ever before.

It wasn't just the size of the parcels, neither, but the thought of their contents that made Robbie hurry in his travels. Mrs. Peasely waited eagerly every day for word from her nephew, who was off in Vietnam; and just last week, Robbie had the unfortunate job of delivering the final letter between Mrs. Wright and her son, whom died in the very same war.

So it was with great speed he made his way through this small, Texan community; taking care to be sure every letter and every delivery was made to the right place.

He started it off as he did every day: a slow trot to conserve energy, as he delivered Mrs. Peasely her latest letter, then meandered over to her poor neighbor Wright, to leave more cards of condolences for her recent loss. The Apple's grocery store was next, and there he left several stacks of who-knows-whats, before he crossed the street to the next block over.

It was when he got to the Null family ranch, at the edge of town that Robbie began to pick up speed and run along the picket fences that quickly vanished into nothing but long lengths of fields and a sparse became nothing but earthy blurs to him, as he turned to the Belkin farm, where the smell of freshly turned soil told him that planting season was upon them. The same elderly farmer could be heard arguing with Mrs. Belkin as Robbie neared with their letters in hand. He dashed away before any could sight of him, and ran across to their neighbors.

By now the morning sun had greeted the higher sky, and beat down mercilessly upon his already tiring body. Sweat began to bead up under the boy's cap, and ran down his face as he pumped his arms, slower this time, towards the Howe residence.

They lived far off from town, but not too far to be out of his mailing jurisdiction, in a ranch that had once, he'd been told, had spanned out farther than the town itself in miles of green pasture, with horses and cattle grazing or running freely in happy candance.

Robbie Smith wasn't too sure about that, as he moved up a dusty trail along to the ranch house, still sweaty and already feeling an ache in his lungs. His eyes trailed over what looked to be constant sights of brown, still wet with dew from last night, but dead nonetheless. It was nothing like any green pasture he had seen before, and certainly no life lived there save for a stray jackrabbit or fox.

He didn't know much about the Howes, and hadn't really met either of them, and besides wishing they lived closer to town, he hadn't really thought much on them either. But now, as Robbie closed in on the mailbox and began to empty his bag, the boy couldn't help but take a closer look towards the seemingly endless fields of land so untamed and untapped. Then to the white ranch house, a good two, possibly three stories tall, with a spacious porch holding a comfortable swing with rose patterned cushions. Quite unlike the yard, it looked well kept, with a gleaming fresh coat of paint, and lace curtains drawn in the windows.  
>But soon enough his bag lay flat and lifeless beside him now, as he dumped a good wad of bills and other assortments into the metal bin, pushing the flag down once finished. And only then did Robbie stop looking to let out a good sigh of relief and took what he believed to be a well deserved break. He leaned against the small tree beside the mailbox, which smelled faintly of apples, and took a few hearty breathes. With each wheeze, exhaustion hit him like a brick, and he found himself wishing he'd taken a drink along with before leaving home.<p>

Nevertheless, the boy stood there, basking in his small achievement for the day. And all to greet him for this work seemed to be a welcomed breeze which rippled across his sweaty forehead. It was going to be another humid day, just like all the others prior to the rain last night.

Robbie had been too tired to hear neither the door opening, nor the shuffle of footsteps approaching. It was only when a voice softly spoke up that he knew someone was there, and then did the boy finally meet Mr. Curtis Howe.

The man that stood there was a relatively short man in stature, but stocky in width. His shirt bunched at the ends of his broad shoulders as he composed himself as best he could, even while still wearing his sleeping clothes. But the man had a warm face, and an earnest, if not nervous, smile as he greeted the deliverer fondly.

"You're the paper boy, aren't you? Roxanne mentioned seeing you a few times...but I'm usually workin by the time ya'll come by." He spoke softly, words trailing off now and again, and Robbie noted, that while the man didn't turn often enough to face him, the few times he did, the man was surprisingly young looking.

"Well uh, anyways, I saw you fall when I looked out the window, and I got a bit worried. Do ya need water or somethin?"

Robbie's face fell immediately, a sort of embarrassment washing over him, and he was just about to refuse, when that face turned to him again and babbled on. "Well, come...come on in, I have to pay you your tip anyways," His voice fell into a whisper as he turned around, already heading onto the porch and into the house. "And I'm not about to let you go back without drinkin' some water neither..."  
>The boy had no choice. Exhaustion and a thirst bordering on dehydration made him walk through the doorway after the man.<p>

They stepped into a homely living room that looked like it belonged to a much older couple. Everything was set up neat and tidy, with white walls and dark chestnut brown furniture. The couch and rocking chair even had matching covers draping on their backs.

It was a nice home, looked expensive too, and Robbie couldn't help but feel a new bitterness for the man before him, who had walked into the kitchen and begun to pour a glass of water for him. The Howe couple, as he knew now, didn't look all that old, and from what he had heard, only had been married for a little over a year.

Yet they had all this, while his parents, who'd been married for a good fifteen years and raised four children, were still suffering to make ends meet. He bit back saying anything, though, when Curtis held out a glass to him, and he finally noticed the man's other arm, or what was left of it.

Like the rest of him, Curtis' arms were short but large. The sleeves of his nightshirt were long though, and hung over rough looking hands. The right one anyways. His left hand, where it had been, was completely gone. And when he moved in a certain way, Robbie could see the lonely stump where it had once been.

All at once those feelings of resentment left him, replaced by a quiet pity, as he nursed his glass and gave the man a feeble "Thanks".

Curtis had to turn around to speak more. "If you need more, go ahead and take some. My sink," Curtis gestured towards the countertop. "Is yours." He walked out into the living room, muttering offhandedly about finding Robbie his tip money, quietly shuffling away just as he had approached the boy earlier.

Robbie was left to admire the kitchen, something made out of his mother's dreams. The counter looked homemade, with a matching table decorated with a linen tablecloth. A small statue of a pair of hugging rabbits donned the center of the table, probably a wedding present as the female rabbit wore a veil.

He could hear Curtis' voice from the living room from here, as he took this time to relax. The man seemed to be calling out to someone, before exclaiming he'd found it, so it was alright. Soon enough he was back in the kitchen, giving a half smile at Robbie, before he held out a small wad of green bills.

Four dollars total, that was a big tip to Robbie. He felt each crisp fold of those bills in his hand as he accepted them eagerly, pocketing them right after with a "Thanks, Mister."  
>"Uh huh, you goin to be alright runnin back in this heat? It's a real scorcher..."<p>

"The trip back is always faster than the trip here, Mister Curtis." Robbie gave the man a smile, as he placed the glass, gingerly, into the sink. He tipped his hat again towards the man. "I'll see myself out. Thanks so much for the water, though, it helped a lot."

"Say hello to your parents for me, son, they're good folks." Robbie felt his face stretch at that, before he strode out the door, and began his jog back towards town, feeling more rejuvenated than before.

* * *

><p>Curtis Howe could not help but give worried glances to the figure that disappeared along the top of that hill line, heading back towards the town a little bit too far from his own home. Those feelings quieted soon enough, though, when the sounds of a creaking floorboard alerted him to a presence behind him, and a pair of arms wrapped about his middle.<p>

"Curtis." A voice, husky from sleep spoke up behind him. "You let me sleep in again..."

"Thought you could use the rest." He chuckled, his good hand patting the fingers that splayed across his belly. They removed themselves when the woman let go of the man, and he turned to see his tired looking wife.  
>Roxanne Howe was a small woman: her frame was shorter than most girls her age, and she was thin everywhere but in the hips, which weren't anything to really look at, according to her. She had a face shape that reminded her of a fruit she once ate overseas, and her pointed nose turned upwards near the end, giving it a larger appearance than what it really was.<p>

To her husband, seeing this girl in her night shirt; far too big and sagging at her lithe shoulders, with doe brown eyes half covered in thick lashes and hair a messy nest, was a sight welcome for a King. He leaned forward and showed his appreciation with a light kiss to the side of her face, which she acknowledged with a wistful smile, and an open-mouthed yawn.

"You want me to make breakfast this morning...or do you want to do it?"

Curtis smiled. "How's about we make it together, Darlin'?"

The kitchen Robbie had been admiring earlier was filled with the sounds of crackling bacon and scraping of metal utensils against a pan. Curtis watched the meat pop and slowly curl, the scent whistling past his face, as he flipped them capriciously. A little slip, and he felt hot fat fly out and land on the inside of his left arm. He recoiled, giving a short call that alerted Roxanne from cracking eggs into a bowl across the room from him.  
>"Curtis? Did you burn yourself again?" She admonished, quickly grabbing her husband's elbow and pushing it under a stream of cold water from the sink. Rinsed, he pulled it out and sighed:<p>

"Got it wet doin' that."

Roxanne rolled her eyes and plucked up a towel from the cupboard and grabbed his wrist. She dabbed across what he worried over, and frowned, meeting his eyes. "...turn it around."

Curtis glanced back down to his wrist, which no longer remained the simple stump Robbie had noticed earlier that day. There was now a completely metallic hand, with wiry digits that seemed as lifeless as the coils that attached to the fleshy part of his arm. Then, surprisingly enough, those same finger-like appendages picked themselves up and moved. They made a whirring sound, of gears pressing into other gears, and this was likely the squeaking of the water as an added lubricant.

Roxanne pressed her towel into them, quickly and quietly dabbing away the droplets between each groove and crevice there. Curtis watched her work, before his hand rotated completely backwards, the palm facing upwards, and she dried this as well.

"There." She smirked up at him before she reached upwards, pinching the tip of his nose with the soft towel still in her hands. "And no rusting isn't that amazing?"

"Very funny." Curtis smiled anyways, before he pulled away and checked on the tinge of red where the burn mark would appear later. "...maybe I should make the cakes though."

"I think so too." A covered whisk was thrust into his face, and he took the handle from her fingers as Roxanne meandered to the bacon; which was seconds to burning, and she quickly pulled the pan off in attempt to save them. She sighed at the sight of the blackened meat. "Well...I guess some of it survived. You like it overcooked anyways, right?"

He chuckled as he whipped the concoction she had already started. "You know me well, Darlin'."

Breakfast after that was uneventful. The couple's quiet conversations mostly going over the day's chores and Curtis' work schedule.

"Belkin needs his machines fixed." Curtis said, as he took his last bite and picked up his plate, stacking it on top of Roxanne's and bringing both to the sink.

"Again? Honestly Curtis...isn't this the fifth time this month alone?" He chuckled as he watched her say this with her cheek still half full of toast. She took another bite as he answered:

"But it's good money. Belkin might not know how to take care of his things but...he does sell some of the finest veggies this side of the U.S. So he pays well. Especially in these times."  
>Roxanne closed her eyes as she chewed this time thoroughly, and swallowed before talking. "Oh, alright." She said. "But try not to stay too late tonight."<p>

Curtis turned on the sink and began to rinse the dishes with his good hand. "Tonight?" He set them in, and turned off the running water. "What'dya got planned tonight, Roxy?"

"I was thinking we could try again tonight." He felt those arms around his middle again, as his wife squeezed up against his much larger frame. Curtis's face began to burn, which she giggled at, tickling her fingertips into the curves beneath his breast bone. "If you're feeling up to breeding with me." She laughed when he scoffed, and wrapped her arms about his shoulders as he turned and leaned down to kiss her. Their lips pressed warmly together, hugging in all its perfection, and they separated on a beat, smiles still playing on their faces.

"Darlin," Curtis ran a wet finger down the side of her face. She blushed when that fingertip landed at the corner of her lip, and his face broke into a wicked smirk of his own. "Sometimes you say the weirdest things. ...but they always manage to grab my attention anyways." And he leaned forward to press his lips to hers once more.

Suddenly the telephone began to ring, interrupting the motion, and they exchanged breathy giggles before she patted his thick arm with a petite hand.

"Go get dressed for work then." And she turned to go answer the phone while he did just that.

Minutes later, and Curtis couldn't find his goggles. He'd thought for sure he'd left it in the gloves he wore to work, but he found them quite empty when pulling them over both hands: organic and metal alike.  
>Briefly going over the bedroom and the tabletop in the hallway, he found himself still without his eye protection and walked downstairs to implore Roxanne of this.<br>"Darlin'," Curtis called out once he got to the bottom of the stairs. His hands patted over his pockets once more, unconsciously searching. "Roxy?" He said once more when she didn't answer right away, before he found her leaning against the kitchen door frame.

"Daddy, I'm sorry," She said into the phone, briefly catching Curtis's gaze. She answered the quirked brow with a roll of the eyes, to which her husband only chuckled at. Roxanne sighed. "You'll just have to find someone else for it...yeah, I know. I'd love to otherwise. ...you know how it is." Slowly she turned away from Curtis and to the key rack beside the phone. Her hands nabbed at the goggles she found hanging from there before tossing them to her husband. Curtis mouthed out a "thank you" before he slid them on, and walked outside to his truck.

Upon opening the porch door and stepping outside, Curtis was met with a wave of heat, and he ignored this. What stopped him, however, was when he saw the car coming up over that hilltop in the road. At first it was nothing more than a slight black shape, another mirage created by the heat and the haze of the day, but as it crept closer yet to the farm house, he knew whoever was driving it was heading here purposely.  
>And that wouldn't be unusual, for the most part, if it weren't for the fact that the car was a very nice one. It was long, and sleek, and shimmered like a black onyx in the sunlight, as if it were being showcased. It was certainly not the kind of car for driving over dirty roads in a small backwater town as this. No, it was a car that screamed money, and lots of it. Curtis could already feel his nerves becoming frayed as it pulled closer yet.<p>

Now, to be fair, Curtis Howe was a man commissioned by others to fix things; so he did get a few visitors coming to seek his guidance or skills in one way or another. But they didn't come often, especially during these days, and never before had anyone come in such a fancied up vehicle as this one. He had to step back as the car pulled up the front of his mailbox and fence, and felt almost under dressed upon seeing his reflection in the windows before him. The black sheet, along with his surprised face, soon rolled down from sight though, and took all those feelings away from him once he saw the driver of the car looking right at him.  
>He had a square like face, wide in jaw and forehead, and these beady dark eyes that rivaled the sheen of his car. The look he gave Curtis, scanning over his dirty work overalls, smudged up with grease and oil at the knees, was obviously one of disappointment, but he hid it well enough when he smiled up at him.<p>

"Curtis Howe?"

"Yes sir." Curtis barely stuttered out, before the man's lips pulled back, and he saw the biggest canines he'd ever laid eyes upon, complete with a golden tooth he was sure he would be able to see into the reflection of, if he'd leaned in any closer. A hand was thrust in his direction, to which he cautiously held out his right hand, and took it in grasp. The man had a strong handshake, much like the rest of his appearance, and he squeezed Curtis' fingers tightly together before he did finally let go.

"My name is Leon Rickman, Mr. Howe. I work for the Builder's League United, and my colleagues and I have become fascinated with your work."

"My work, Mr. Rickman?"

"Yes, Mr. Howe, the stuff you've fixed and the rate you've fixed them at is astounding. You remember Egypt, 1966 through 68 right? You were called up by a Mr. Smith, your present day father in law, to join his team as an engineer in saving the Abu Simbel temples?"

Curtis moved from one foot to the other, shifting from just a little deterred to downright uncomfortable. "...can I ask how you know all this stuff, Mister?" He asked in that hushed tone of his, almost unable to look the man in the eyes now.

Rickman's smile couldn't get wider if he tried, that golden tooth glinting as he gave Curtis this knowing look. "You remember Doug Elliot?"

"Doug... Should've known." Curtis breathed out. "How's he doin', anyways?"

"Good, good. Working for us now. Recommended you highly when we were going over recruitment issues. He had some interesting stories to share about your...endeavors while you two were up there." At this, Curtis watched those beady eyes move down the span of one of his arms, and land on the gloved hand that lay sluggishly at his side. He cautiously moved it behind himself, feigning an itch, and Rickman's eyes flicked back to his face, all Cheshire smiles yet.

"So...would you mind having ourselves a man-to-man conversation, Mr. Howe? This employment opportunity, I assure you, is one you should most consider."

"They all are, Mr. Rickman. But I can't say I've ever heard of your company; a Builder's League sounds like somethin' I'd be knowin' about-"

"No time like the present, Mr. Howe." Curtis found he really hated the way this man chuckled.

Roxanne had taken a few minutes longer than predicted, but she blamed not just her jabber-mouth of a father; but also her good Sunday sandals, and the buckle that just had to break when she was pulling them on earlier. She emerged from the house, ready to explain why she was wearing her work boots that her husband was sure to tease her about. But then she saw the very nice car, and Curtis hunched over it, talking to the driver.

Now, usually Roxanne would let this be and stand aside politely to 'let the men talk business'. But this visitor, as mentioned prior, was a strange one to the pair, and knowing her husband's innate shyness, curiosity bested her. She walked over, intent on 'casually' reminding Curtis they did have appointments to make. And as she predicted, Curtis' face read he wanted to leave, but their visitor (whom reminded her of those old gang movies she used to love as a child) continued to talk and refused good natured Curtis to get a single word in.

"You see," Roxanne heard the man speak. "Our military front does not, in fact, reside in Vietnam but in the deserts nearby La-"

"Military?" Both men seemed surprised to see Roxanne as she made herself known: Curtis, relieved, and the strange visitor, scorned. This didn't deter her, and Mrs. Howe was anything but shy. She planted herself firmly in front of her much larger husband and faced up to this classy looking gentleman, in his fancied up car and his golden teeth and spoke:

"My husband has been asked by several recruiters before, Mister. And each time he refused not because he didn't want to either, he can't. Curtis is an amputee, and unfit to serve."

Rickman stared for a moment at this woman before him, mouth only the slightest ajar, until finally he gave an airy chortle and Roxanne was glaring at herself inside that golden tooth set in his rough smile.  
>"This is Mrs. Howe, then?" When he wasn't answered right away, the man continued, never once taking his eyes from hers.<p>

"I couldn't help but admire your home from here, Mrs. Howe. I heard it's been in your husband's family for generations. Must be hard for a young couple like you both, unemployed at that, to keep it up and running, hm?"  
>"You hear quite a bit then, Mister. A bit too much, if you ask me. Thank you for the concern, but we get by just fine." Her tone read she was done with him, and he almost seemed smug about this. "Curtis gets commissioned by a farmer that pays him handsomely. In fact... we really do need to keep an appointment with the very same man."<p>

"Oh?" That damned smile was lost a moment then, as Rickman turned back into his car, only to return with a thick folder in hand, outstretched to Curtis' direction. "Well then, I won't keep you. But...do take a look at it, Mr. Howe. I think you'll find the pay to be quite formidable."

Roxanne stepped back and watched Curtis lean and take the offered paperwork politely, before her eyes locked once more to Rickman, who winked.

"You two have a great day," The car started up again, and began to back up lazily away from their fence and home. "It was a pleasure to meet you, both of you."

And then that stunning car turned away, and disappeared over the hill and from sight once more.

"Well." Curtis picked up his head to watch Roxanne dust off the front of her skirt idly."They just don't know when to give up, do they?"

"Not at all." He breathed out, and wiped at his brow once more, unsure if the sweat was from the heat or not. The folder in his hands felt heavy, and he tucked them beneath his arm. "Well...we, we best be gettin' to town. ...and Belkin."

"The old man will be crabby enough that you can't stay late." Roxanne teased, as she made her way to the passenger seat of their truck parked nearby. Curtis followed, but stopped suddenly at his door, eyebrow perched in question. "What?" She frowned. "Oh, don't tell me you forgot about-"

"Nah, just wonderin' why you're wearin' your work boots into town is all." Curtis laughed at the roll of her eyes before he got into the driver's seat and tossed that folder back carelessly.

* * *

><p>The drive to town was unusually quiet, and left Curtis nervously wringing his fingerscoiled about the steering wheel as he stole glances now and again at his wife. Roxanne seemed content to simply stare out the window though; half rolled down, and let the wind whip strands from her face to dance behind her head. Her chin resting in her hand, she looked deep in thought, and he didn't know what to say or if words should be spoken at all.<p>

"These fields would be good for a horse or two." Curtis's gaze moved from the road to Roxanne once more. A strand of her dark hair flicked across her face in the same way the tall grass along the old fences pranced about so capriciously. He smiled warmly and once more looked as the small town came into view.

"Yeah, it would."

"You aren't going to keep that folder are you?"

He shook his head. "You know how I am. It's already forgotten, Roxy."

"Good..." Curtis thought to something, anything, to keep her mind from what had occurred earlier. It didn't take him long to think of it, though.  
>"And once we have two horses...what do you think about a few sheep or goats?"<p>

She smiled fondly at the idea, tucking that hair behind her ears as she sat back into the seat. "I want a cow, first." She said. "Cows are good for making money, too."

"We'll need a bull with a cow."

"And thousands of dollars for a bull...or any of them really. Not to mention we need a new barn." They both heaved sighs at once, the silence coming again just as they turned the corner and Apple's Groceries came into view. Roxanne moved her feet back into her clunky work boots that were a size too big, and turned to roll up the window.

Curtis pulled before the old building, with it's faded words and sales signs decorating slightly smudged windows, and parked. They sat there for awhile, staring ahead until Curtis smiled.  
>"...when I do get a full time job, Roxy. We'll have the money we need then."<p>

"I know Curtis." Their eyes met, and she leaned up to him. "And I'll take care of all the animals and the baby."

"Just as we said." He smiled, leaned down towards her.

"And just as we planned." They kissed briefly before she got out, clunky work boots and all, and walked into the store.

* * *

><p>Like Curtis, Roxanne wasn't exactly occupied with a job. She wanted one, and had asked about for an openings at the few businesses that made up the town: the diner, the post office, the drugstore, even here at Apple's Grocery. But as she'd half expected, a town built by men who passed on their enterprises to their heirs, who passed it on to their own and so on and so on had no room for someone outside the family. The Apple's, however, particularly Mrs. Apple, held a soft spot for her and she let Roxanne come in for some 'paid volunteer work' now and again. It barely made her a few bucks, but the work was simple and she enjoyed the older woman's conversations. They were warm, and put her at ease even on days such as these.<p>

"It's because you're a city girl, just like I used to be." Mrs. Apple told her that very morning as Roxanne was pushing a box full of melon towards their proper place. Fixing her white hair into a bun, Apple was the ideal homage to her age. She was sweet, chipper, and boasting with energy that belonged to people years her junior. It took but a look into her eyes to see the woman had a certain glint in those dark orbs of hers yet. As if telling others to "just wait, just wait and see what I can do". And most did, Roxanne certainly listened as the older woman continued. "Those boys from there, they'll come down here and talk to boys like your Curtis and rile them all up. Then you come along with your own experience with slick talkers, and they have no idea what to do. I only wish I'd been there to see it." She seemed satisfied finally, and let her arms fall from her white hair to fix the apron she'd pulled on earlier.

"I don't know Mrs. Apple." Roxanne sighed as she thought back to the recruiter and what he had said earlier, and began to pull a melon from the box, setting it onto the shelves. They smelled good, she noted, and wondered if she should buy one for dinner tonight. "I get worried Curtis feels like I'm talking for him when things like this happen. He's good with people, when he tries, but the man is so shy around strangers it's hard not to…I don't know…what's the word…"

"Protect him?" Apple chuckled, and leaned forward on the counter top she was standing behind. "Honey, all husbands are our biggest babies. My husband couldn't feed himself if he tried, and he probably would've stuck to his Mama's teat into his twenties had I not intervened. Big old baby."

Roxanne chuckled. "I don't think Curtis is quite that bad."

"Oh no, I know he's not." Apple smiled softly, before she peered towards the window to see a few cars arriving now. "And here comes old lady Peasley now…" She muttered, Roxanne and her watching as a feeble looking woman emerged from one of the older looking cars, hobbling on her cane towards the doorway.

"Now whatever you do, Honey," Apple began, her tone hushed and low. "Don't even mention the word baby around her."

"I heard baby! You'se finally pregnant Mrs. Howe?"

Apple sighed, "Too late," and leaned away from the counter top as Roxanne turned towards Peasley, whose wrinkled face was suddenly all smiles and coming closer. The gnarled hand on her cane fidgeted excitedly as she made her way towards Roxanne, whom was still bent over with a melon in hand.

"What you doin' workin' in your condition, Honey? Stand up, lemme see that bump." Roxanne started to talk, but felt a cane tap at her hip and she stood upright enough for the old woman's face to nestle beneath her breast bone. "Oh…" Peasely breathed against the fabric of Roxanne's shirt. "Oh yes, s'gonna be a boy, I can feel it."

"Roxanne's not pregnant, Mrs. Peasely." Apple laughed at Roxanne's sudden stillness, and the look of alarm on her as the old woman still clung onto her frame. "Let the poor dear go, already, you're making a scene in my store."

Mrs. Peasely made a face but did as she was told, fidgeting with her cane as she had to crane her head up to get a good look at Roxanne.

"S'been a year since ya'll came down from the city on that Curtis boy's arm. When are ya gonna see fit to give 'im an heir already?"

Roxanne could only give a light laugh, unsure exactly how to respond. "We've been trying Mrs. Peasely," She said. "We have."

"Hmph. Try eatin' mo grapefruit."

"…excuse me?"

"Mo grapefruit." Peasely repeated, she wiggled her cane towards Roxanne's midsection. "Makes the junk in ya settle down so an egg'll get fertilized." Roxanne jumped when the end of the cane connected with her rear with a soft 'whap whap' as Peasely continued on. "And I bet that boy o' yours is wearin' his pants too tight. Tell 'im to wear his Daddy's old pants. He was a big man, should hang nice and loose and keep his b-"  
>"Mrs. Peasely!" The old woman jerked her head towards Apple, who had been beside herself trying to hide her laughter behind her hand. "We have a sale on that apple sauce you like so much, maybe you should get it before the neighborhood kids get it."<p>

Immediately Peasely's face changed, and she was licking at her lips with a sputter. "Oh yes." She exclaimed. "I do likes me some apple sauce, best be gettin' it then…it was nice talkin' to ya Mrs. Howe. Ya'll should come over and visit me sometime…bring that husband o' yours too." She continued to mutter even as she hobbled towards the back shelves of the store, only the words about tight pants and their peculiar problems still being heard before Roxanne finally averted her attention back to Apple.

"Thank you." She breathed, and the two women smiled at one another until they could hold it no longer and burst. Their peals of laughter could be heard shrieking throughout the store, and Roxanne had to steady herself on the shelf, only managing to wiggle it enough that a melon fell and collided into the floor. It cracked and juice sprayed all over, but this only made the two laugh harder.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Apple…I'll pay for it." Roxanne finally panted out, still all smiles even as she bent over and began to pick up the green shells.

"Don't even worry about it, Dear." Apple breathed, dabbing at her eyes as she walked into the backroom behind her to pull out a mop. The two went to cleaning, soft chuckles being exchanged as they heard Peasely still talking to herself, something about apple sauce and something about babies.

Either way, it really didn't matter.

* * *

><p>Curtis arrived at Belkin farm soon enough, he detected. The old farmer had just gotten out of his house, and was chewing at the insides of his lower lip as he watched Curtis pull up and get out. From behind, the scents of a finished breakfast still wafted out, so he knew the man was full. And when he was full, he'd be in a good mood.<p>

"Mornin' Mister Belkin." Curtis greeted as he got out of the truck, shutting the door behind him and walking towards the back to get out his toolbox.

"Hn…good to see ya, Curtis." Belkin greeted in return, rubbing at the inward slope of his belly, and scratching at his rib cage that was surely visible if the thin man ever deemed it necessary to remove his shirt. His fingers, darkened by years in the sun motioned towards the shed. "It's the tractor again, damn thing just stopped workin' on me last week."

"Have you been oiling it regularly?" Curtis asked as he made his way towards the building. It loomed above him, and smelled of fresh paint. Apparently they'd just redone the whole layout, even the driveway looked newer, cleaner.

"Yes, I have. Every ten hours." Belkin puffed up proudly, and Curtis smiled sadly.

"Ah…I told you every one hundred, Mr. Belkin." Belkin immediately scowled, his image deflated for but an instant as he yanked open the shed door for Curtis, whose hands were quite full with his toolbox. "But it's alright, it means I can fix it faster for you." The younger man added it on a note, as he set his box down with a loud plop, the metal contents inside rattling together as he took in the image before him.

The machine was new, something Belkin had begrudgingly bought after his old one refused to work no matter how many hours Curtis put into it. It cost him a pretty penny, and it was a very nice one at that, but the man still cared for the new one like he did his old. Curtis found out quickly that trying to explain how both machines from different times and manufacturers meant different care guidelines just wasn't going to go through Belkin's stubborn mind.

Not that it mattered too much. Whenever something broke, Curtis was sure to be called and paid. And that cycle was rather pleasant.

"Good to hear," Belkin eyed his tractor. "I need to get them seeds out in the ground before the heat gets too bad."

Curtis nodded as he came to the large machine and began to examine it over quickly. Moving a gear, he heard the tell tale squeaking he'd been expecting and nodded to himself. Next the hood was set up, and his fingers began to move along as he bent closer towards the engine. All the while, Belkin watched from a short distance, chewing on his lower lip or scratching at his jeans.

Finally Curtis sat back, a good layer of oil soaked on his person and he pulled his goggles off to clean them.

"How bad is it?" Belkin asked. "And don't be holdin' back on my account, boy. You tell me the truth."

"Mmmn…" Curtis rubbed his goggles against a clean pant leg before he pulled them back onto his head, snapping them into place. "Give me three days, and she'll be good as new."

Belkin seemed satisfied by this; he gave a wry smile as he pocketed those dark, itchy fingers of his. "I'll pay you two hundred a night, if'n ya come in and work on it from about ten am to seven or eight pm, sound reasonable?"

"Sounds just fine, except for tonight; Roxanne wants me home by six." Curtis was pleasantly surprised to find Belkin only agree with him with some slow nodding. Breakfast must have been real swell, he thought, as Belkin pulled out a pinch with his finger from his jean pocket, before spitting and shoving his fingertips into his mouth. He chewed.

"You're a good man, just like your Daddy was, Howe. I'll pay ya full time for tonight too. Just get my machine fixed."

* * *

><p>Roxanne had long finished mopping the floors about the area, and was idly sitting beside the counter top, rearranging for probably the third time the candy bowls set up in front of her. Her eyes watched an elderly woman rummaging about beside Peasely, who had been pushing her cart about the store for hours now, full of apple sauce.<p>

"If you want some, you can have some, Honey." Apple emerged behind her from the backroom, a package full of tobacco under her arms.

"No thanks, Mrs. Apple." Roxanne pulled her fingers from some brightly wrapped, green caramel pops and looked out at the town. "Seems so quiet," she muttered, seeing a stray person walk from out of the diner not too far off from her window view. Probably moving towards the drug store, way on the other side of the building.

"That's the thing about the country, Honey. We city girls grew up used to seeing all kinds of people, all the time. It's nice and quiet here." Apple hummed, moving a sales sign in front of the cigarettes.

"Yeah, it still gets me sometimes." Roxanne admitted, but she smiled. "But I love it here."

"As do I, Honey. As do I. Ah, can you ring Mr. Yearly up for me, Roxanne? I've got my hands full here…"

Roxanne moved out to do so, and had just about finished packaging the man's groceries when the door burst open with about as much gusto as Peasley's earlier entrance.

"Apple?" A shrill voice broke through, and both Roxanne and Yearly looked to see a woman of Roxanne's age walk in, carrying the heat of the day inside with her. She waved her hand before her sweaty face, a slight smear of her makeup already threatening to drip and run down her cheeks.

It was Mrs. Harper, a woman known for her love of talk and gossip. Upon seeing her, Yearly immediately made for his wallet, taking the bag of oranges from Roxanne's hands even before she could package it up for him.  
>"Thank you kindly, Miss." He said. "Keep the change, and he shuffled on past Harper, who looked back and shrugged.<p>

"Now what do you suppose got into him all of a sudden?" She spoke, tottering on over to the counter and practically falling against it with a feigned sigh. "Oh I bet it's because he doesn't want to hear about how I saw his boy, Junior, kissing up to three girls yesterday at the park. No respect, that kid has. None. With a capital N!" She waved her hand to Roxanne, chuckling lowly as she did so. Roxanne herself only smiled softly as she began to leaf through the money Yearly had shoved into her hands. Carefully peeling a twenty from a five she tried to make conversation out of politeness.

"Hot outside today Mrs. Harper?"

"Oh it's a scorcher, Honey!" Harper groaned, fanning herself yet again. "I swear, it hasn't been this hot after a day of just rain since before my Mama was my age. And did you know, back then, she said that they'd get rain up to their ankles? And, get this, she said her Mama said, they'd get it up to their knees, and even then, she said her Mama said, that her own Mama said-"

"That they'd get it up to their thighs?"

"Well how'd you know I was going to say that?"

"You shoot your mouth off enough, Honey, anyone around here could tell." Apple finally spoke up, clapping her hands together as the younger woman only laughed this high pitched little giggle, patting at the counter top.

"Oh Mrs. Apple!" Harper crowed. "You sure know how to crack me up."

"Don't we all…" Apple gave a light smirk, flashing Roxanne a look before she crossed her arms before her chest. "So what'd you need from me today?"

"Well," A dark violet purse was set in front of her, and Harper moved to finger through the contents. "I was actually hoping to buy some of those melons today, and I was on my way to, when I saw it!" Suddenly those eyes on her face, covered in smeared make up widened up enough she almost resembled a bug. "It was the most beautiful car I'd ever laid eyes on. And it drove through our town. Can you believe it? Maybe they're finally going to be bringing in some businesses and get this place growin' again!"

"Now that you mention it…" Apple trailed off, looking to Roxanne. "Didn't you say the man who visited you today was driving an expensive car, Roxanne?"

"Well, it looked like it cost him a pretty penny."

"Oh you met the driver? Oh do tell me more about it, Roxanne, do tell me puh-lease!" Roxanne didn't know to be flattered or remorseful that the woman was so intent on hearing about this lone visitor, strange as he was. She settled with a sigh before muttering:

"He was just some army recruit, looking to give Curtis a job."

"Army recruit?" The look of disappointment on Harper's face couldn't get any more obvious until she clucked her tongue. "Well what in tarnation are they doin' comin' up to see your husband, Roxanne? He ain't fightin' material. My mama always said he was the quietest Howe she'd ever met. And she's met a lot of Howe's, believe me. Why they've lived here since before Harper's even moved in-"

"I know Mrs. Harper." Roxanne's face rose to meet the other woman's. She frowned. "They found out he was an amputee and left, end of story." And with that, she picked up Yearly's money and began placing it into the cash register.

Harper opened her mouth to continue, but stopped as soon as her eyes caught the warning glower Apple gave her. Her teeth clacked together as she shut it tight, lips pursed as she twiddled her fingertips along the counter top.

The quiet didn't last much longer, though, as Curtis Howe made his way into the store, covered from head to toe in dried up oil and looking down carefully as if watching his step. He looked up once Roxanne said his name, and that warm smile of his immediately greeted her.

"Got off a bit early, Darlin." He explained, looking towards the clock that read thirty minutes after five. He adjusted the rim of his goggles on his forehead, and nodded towards Apple and Harper sheepishly. Neither said anything but smiled, Apple fondly, and Harper with a quick eye analyzing what she could out of him.

It was Mrs. Peasely that spoke up.

"Curtis Howe! When in hell's name are ya gonna get a baby in that wife o' yours?" She hollered once in view, hobbling about on that cane of hers and approaching faster than any woman in her condition should. "Youse wearin too tight o' pants boy, I just know it! Yo Daddy didn't wear no tight pants, that was fo sure. And here ya youngins are, wearin' them tight pants and tryin to show off what the Good Lord gave ya in ways ya should never be showin' em!"

"Oh for Christ sakes Mrs. Peasely-" Apple laughed, unable to contain herself at the look that Curtis gave once the old woman had come into view. A quiet alarm, much like his wife's, he fidgeted in place when the tip of her cane poked towards his belly, whapped him on the outside of his thigh, and then tapped at the toe of his boot.

"Your Daddy gave ya that ranch to raise a family on it, dagnabbit boy." Peasely continued. "Not to be sellin' off the animals so ya can go to some fancy old college before ya return with a young filly on yer arm. The least ya can do is give him a grandbaby so he ain't rollin' round in his grave no more!"

"Mrs. Peasely, that's enough. Let the poor man go home with his wife already." Apple chortled, silently thanking Harper, who had then taken the initiative and lead the elderly woman away from the couple and towards another shelf, speaking about fancy cars and pants all the while. She sighed. "I'm sorry Mr. and Mrs. Howe. You know how she is, she's got no one left but her nephew, so she's got to be sticking her nose in everyone's business."

"It's fine." Roxanne smiled softly, as she came to her husband's side, patting his large arm. "We're going to go now, thanks for having me over, Mrs. Apple."

"Come by tomorrow too, alright?" The woman smiled. "I have a bigger order of those melons coming in, and I'm going to need the extra help."

* * *

><p>There had been no rain on this hot and humid day. But as the sun slowly dipped towards the horizon line and the darkness of night began to stretch it's fingers across the sky, soft droplets of dew formed outside. A welcome cooling was brought to the town, but it went unnoticed at the Howe Ranch, where the young couple had long since strolled upstairs to their bedroom.<p>

"You're going to need another pair of overalls, aren't you?" Roxanne scooted back on the bed until her back pressed into fat pillows, and she leaned in until her upper body was cushioned by these.  
>Curtis stood beside the closet across from the bed, pulling off his dirty clothing and glancing towards his wife lounging about, watching him.<p>

"Unless you can get oil out." He said as the said overalls dropped to the floor, and he crawled onto the bed in nothing but boxers. The same pair that Roxanne called ugly, but he dubbed comfortable. Thus, they stayed even if she rolled her eyes at the sight of them.

Taking his place beside his wife, Curtis managed to squeeze at least one pillow from her, and placed it behind his head with a sigh, laying back. And as soon as he did, she sat up and leaned over him, pressing their lips together. He lay still in quiet response, the ends of her long hairs tickling along his face as their mouths separated, and they stared for a moment longer at one another.

Her fingers raked over the expanse of his chest, creating white lines beneath a thin layer of hair before it began to bounce with Curtis's laughter. She recoiled a bit, flushed, before she smiled and asked: "What is it?"

Suddenly Curtis's face turned serious as he craned his neck to look at his wife. She didn't know what to think until he asked, in a very hushed tone, "Do you think I wear my overalls too tight, Roxy?"

"Curtis-" Roxanne laughed as she pulled away from him and fell back into the pillows, rustling beneath the blankets. "Why did you have to go and ruin the mood like that?"

He only laughed harder as he sat up to quietly remove the mechanical hand he'd forgotten. With a twist at the wrist, a light hissing sound followed a click as he slowly detached it. "I thought it was an important question." He chuckled, carefully placing all pieces together before leaning to place it on the bedside table at his side. A slight weight added to his shoulder opposite his face, and when he turned around to look, he was met with a small curled up toe.

His eyes traveled up the expanse of Roxanne's leg, to her face, which lay so nestled deep in the pillows that her hair became a crown of dark chocolate browns, her eyes sparking within this above a pair of quirked up lips. Curtis breathed, and unconsciously licked his dry lips as the toes resting on his shoulder pressed into his cheek, and directed him to turn towards her. He did so, slowly, and ran his lone hand up the outer thigh of the same leg she had upon him. His fingers found the loop of her underwear hanging about her knee; something she had done on their wedding night just to tease him.

It worked. Curtis, completely red in the face, crawled towards her, with no more words to exchange just yet.

* * *

><p>AN: R&R please!


	2. Chapter 2

Title: None Were Angels, Chapter 2  
>Genre: Family, General<br>Characters: Roxanne, Curtis, Robbie the paperboy, Belkin the farmer, and Harper and Apple  
>Pairings: CurtisRoxanne  
>Summary: The next chapter, still unedited. A look into Curtis's childhood, a certain incident leads to some trouble for the young couple. Herp a derp derp, Peasley likes apple sauce.<br>Warnings: Swears. Unedited. Death. And goats.  
>Disclaimers: I don't own TF2 stuff, that belongs to Valve. IB<p>

* * *

><p>TOWN, 1958<p>

Curtis Howe didn't like to think back into his childhood. It wasn't that it was one of hardship and abuse, no. But rather, it reminded him of how his ranch had once been.

There'd been a time when the grass all over the Howe family ranch had been green with life; rich, full, and waving in a constant tide. He remembered the grass the most. Walking outside, he'd feel the prickly tips of that grass gently stroke up his ankles to his calves, and draw thin lines of dew across his skin. Then he'd make it to the barn, still half asleep, and begin his morning chores.

He could still remember the chores he had to do back when, back on one particular day.

The cows would be fed first, and he'd watch them as they too moved groggily towards the pins to chew away at feed he'd just poured for them. It smelled of fresh pine shavings, that barn, and hay, which was good because the next chore was scooping out the dung and he couldn't help but remind himself that that chore would be so much worse if the smell hadn't been covered up.

Curtis hadn't cared too much for these chores, and much preferred it when his father asked him to help paint the fence in the summers, or repair the siding on the barn.

Yet he also knew that he couldn't do much about it. The mechanical parts of the ranch didn't need caring much, and when they did, he was usually forced to simply watch his father silently work on the job by himself. He was resigned to watching over the animals; who nipped at his fingers for food, or, as in the chicken's case, pecked at his feet when he gathered eggs.

But even at that age, just before teenage years, he took it all without much say, and continued to scoop out the smelly dung that hung at the rear of the cow pens, taking care not to breathe through his nose and smell the pungent odor dripping from his nostrils down his throat.

By the time he was finished with the last cow's pen, his father would come in with a bucket and a pair of gloves.

Thomas Howe was a large man in belly and height, something Curtis didn't inherit. What he did get, though, were the same soft chocolate eyes that his mother always gushed about. Unlike Curtis, though, who's eyes shone with all the innocence and wonder of boyhood, Thomas's had hardened over the years and he looked down upon his son with all the grace of a rock.

He would set down his coffee mug, still smelling of the brew, and grunt at Curtis, jerking his head towards the chicken coop. Curtis dropped the shovel, usually by then done with Betty's pen, and nervously walked around his father to go tend to the fowls instead. It was always like this. 'Keep out of the way,' Thomas told him silently. 'Just do your things and let me do mine.' He was a loner, and in his own way, he was turning his son that way as well.

But on that day, just before Curtis became a teenager, he stopped Curtis and spoke, and called out as he always did when he did choose to talk. "Boy."

Curtis halted quickly and turned around. He felt the cold grass move up his pant leg as he twisted in place to face his father.

He was still holding his mug of coffee, dark eyes glazed over as if he were taking the boy before him in, like he was a stranger that needed to be evaluated. And honestly, Curtis would agree that it half felt like they were strangers having just met, who just happened to live under the same roof and share the same blood.

Thomas Howe chewed on his lower lip then; he always did when he was trying to find the words to say, as if he could drag them out from the tip of his tongue and force them from his mouth. The hair that remained on his head danced like that grass all around them, so light you could barely make it out against his scalp. Finally he rubbed that down, and grunted tiredly.

"You don't care much for animals, do you boy?"

Curtis bit his lip, when had he picked up his father's habit anyways? And nervously, he scuffed his foot into the dirt, a habit he'd created of his own. "No Sir." He barely whispered, and couldn't help but flinch at the hiss from his father's exhale, as Thomas took another sip of his mug, and nodded slowly.

"Well then, a ranch won't do you much good, will it?"

He shrugged, still unable to look him in the eye, until Thomas reached, and as gently as he could, placed two fingers beneath the young boy's chin and made him look up.

It was the first time Curtis could remember his father ever doing anything affectionate physically. Never once had he been hugged or coddled, save for from his mother, and their conversations had been far and few in between. Often times Thomas felt like a spirit, appearing when he was needed, and disappearing to where he had to go right away. He never took his time with relaxing, never seemed to be busy enough.

Now looking at him this close, Curtis could make out tiredness behind those eyes, and felt the rough skin of his fingers, hard working hands, beneath his soft chin, the skin of youth.

"Don't be afraid to look someone in the eyes, Son, and tell them what you're feeling. You aren't gonna hurt my feelings, no Sir, if you don't want to raise a few cows like your Daddy."

It was the most Thomas ever said to him, the most affection he'd ever shown, and the words alone knocked Curtis into a sort of delirium. He couldn't remember much after that; save for the fact that his father had turned around and left him there, stupefied in the silence he long since grown used to.

Curtis finished his chores feeling more energy than he had in a long time, and even stopped to pet one of the chicken's heads, finding it wasn't so bad after all, even if they did peck at his boots every time he stepped into the coop.

That day passed on just like any other, his father stayed in the barn and worked with Betty, who was near the time of a birth, Curtis could recall, as his mother chatted on and on about it while he helped her with laundry before dinner.

After they had eaten more than half a meal; a roast beef, Curtis could still remember the smell of it more than anything else in that room; they'd noticed his father still missing from the table. Nothing too unusual, he was probably caught up in his work yet again. They expected any moment for the door to open, and the floors to creak under the large weight of Thomas Howe, as he'd walk over and grunt in greeting, maybe mumble about them being impatient, before kissing his wife in thanks anyways. He always made sure to kiss her and thank her, it was the most redeeming thing about him, Curtis thought.

But once the clock struck past nine, Curtis couldn't help but recognize the way his mother would keep peeking over her shoulder to check the minute hand ticking by. She only smiled though, when she turned around, pet down a strand of dark hair from her face, and spoke soothingly.

"Betty must've given birth already. You know how your father is so responsible for those animals."

Even at that age, Curtis had thought she was saying it to reassure herself more than him. But she didn't let on her fear anymore, instead rising from the table and collecting his and her empty plates, glancing briefly to the only remaining one, shining in all its cleanliness.

The food long since smelled cold when his mother told him to get ready for bed. Without a word of protest, he shuffled away to hide under soft cotton blankets, and stared up at splattered spots of moonlight filtering onto his ceiling through his open window. His eyes closed as he heard his mother walk outside towards the barn outside, calling out his father's name. Then there was the familiar creak of the barn door opening, more shouts, and then a loud scream and she was crying.

Curtis closed his eyes slowly, felt a burning sensation behind his lids, and wasn't sure exactly when the tears fell down, but knew they were there, and that he'd have to get up soon and comfort his mother.

* * *

><p>TOWN, 1970<p>

Looking out now to the fields, Curtis was met with only seas of gold and age. The grasses and weeds, unkempt, had long since overrun what had once been his mother's vegetable patch. Beyond that, the barn was choked by dark hands that clawed their ways up its broken walls, winding their ways through the body as if pinning it to the sodden earth below.

If Thomas Howe could see it now, how untamed his ranch had become, Curtis reasoned even a man as stony as his father may shed a tear or two.

It was another hot day, but particularly humid this time around. Even Robbie was late in bringing the mail, and had come in for another rest and some water, this time staying long enough that he sat for breakfast with Curtis and Roxanne.

The boy ate soundly at the bacon and waffles, constantly complimenting them, and wasn't hesitant to ask for seconds. Curtis smiled behind his glass as he drank ice cold milk, and Roxanne scooped up another waffle onto the boy's awaiting platter.

"My Dad told me that your Dad used to provide the town's milk, Mr. Howe."

The statement was an innocent one, but Curtis couldn't help the slight clenching of guilt that gnawed at his stomach. With a smile, he set down his glass and nodded softly, not meeting the boy's gaze.

"Curtis and I are planning to do just that." Roxanne smiled proudly. "Once we revive the ranch, that is."

Robbie's eyes widened for a second. "You going to have goats?" He asked. "I love goats. I always wanted to work at my Uncle's farm where he raised goats. But he left for the war, and no one wanted to raise the goats, so they were sold." The boy only stopped to take another drink, gasping loudly when he finally let go of the glass. "You think I could help you raise your goats, Mr. and Mrs. Howe?" His eyebrows flicked with his tongue as he lapped up the small stache of milk covering his upper lip.

Roxanne couldn't help but laugh with delight at the boy's questioning. "Oh, I think we'll need a few extra farm hands around. You'll be more than welcome, Robbie." The boy grinned and went back to eating as Curtis finished his plate and rose with a soft:"Excuse me".

"You…" The sound of water echoed from the sink as Curtis began to talk, stopped suddenly, before sighing aloud once more. "You…" He tried again. "You want a ride into town, Robbie?"

"That'd be nice, Mr. Howe. Thanks." Robbie answered as he looked over to Curtis, who had not turned around to look at him as he spoke, big shoulders moving as he rinsed the last of the dishes and then set them aside.

The paper boy continued to watch Curtis, his eyes trailing from those broad shoulders, so hunched over, to the arm that held up a gloved hand; a hand that had not been there yesterday morning.

* * *

><p>In a way, Curtis expected another car to roll up and try to goad him into joining some other crazy company fighting some messed up war. But none did, and now he and the boy sat side by side in his truck, waiting outside his house for his wife, who was getting ready to go to Apple's.<p>

Curtis wished he had a watch. When he was in college, and had to sit around people he didn't know, he had a watch and would repeatedly check on it, pretend to fix it, or clean it, and otherwise give others an impression he was too busy to talk. It worked for the most part, and right now Robbie seemed inclined to talk enough he wished the watch were there _now_.

"You know, if you get a goat, you have to have a few other goats. They get real lonesome without other goats to talk to."

Curtis only nodded, fingered the wheel and concentrated on it. Where was Roxanne anyways?

"And if you don't take care of their horns, my Uncle said they can curl back right into their head, isn't that crazy?"

"Yeah, real crazy."

Robbie glanced upwards, his eyes grazing over the hood of the truck. "You have a nice truck, Mr. Howe. How're you and Mrs. Howe able to afford such nice things?"

"Family heirlooms, mostly."

"Ah." Robbie nodded slowly, chewed on his lower lip and the two sat there in silence for a moment longer.

"…I bet you could keep the goats in your barn, Mr. Howe." He grimaced at the disrepair of the building. "Well," He corrected. "Once you rebuild it, that is."

Curtis sighed.

"I was planning on it, Robbie."

He looked up in time as Roxanne came out, pulling up the side of a new sneaker until her ankle fit in, and half walked, half hopped, all the way back to the passenger side of the truck. She climbed in beside Robbie, leaving the boy between them, before she smiled sheepishly at both.

"Sorry," She said. "Daddy called me again, Curtis. You know how he can be."

"How is he?"

"Good as ever. You know when he called yesterday? It was about a new experiment of his." Roxanne pulled her hair back, and checked into the side mirror as Curtis started the truck and began to back out into the dirt road. As they passed down past the apple tree and the lone hill on the road, Robbie turned to her.

"Your father a scientist, Mrs. Howe?"

"Well, he's really a professor." She said this as she pulled and snapped a band about her hair before finally satisfied enough to lay her hands down. "Well, he was before he retired a few years back. Now he thinks he's a sociologist…" She trailed off at the sudden glaze that came over Robbie's eyes. "Ah, that's a person who studies sociology. Or well, studies people and society, basically."

"Why would someone go and do that?"

"I don't know, really. But he finds it fascinating." Roxanne chuckled as town came into view, and soon enough, Apple's. Once they parked, Robbie also grabbed at his bag and made his way out with Mrs. Howe. He turned around and waved to Curtis, who nodded softly back.

"Thanks Mr. Howe, I'll run home from here. Take care at Belkin's, it's real hot out there."

The smallest hint of a smile perked at Curtis's lip. He even let out a chuckle as Robbie ran off towards his small shamble of a home across the street; before he turned once more towards Roxanne, who leaned in and pressed her lips to his own.

"You heard the boy, keep safe." She whispered once they part, and stepped out of the truck again, smiling as he flushed red.

"Hey! Mr. and Mrs. Howe!" Both looked to see Robbie, who had emerged from his house, arms flailing over his head. "When you get the goats, and there's a baby, do you think I can have it as a pet?"

* * *

><p>Arthur Belkin hadn't counted on today being so damn hot. The elder farmer glanced up towards the skies, light blue, and not a cloud in sight. Only the damn sun, and it beat down mercilessly upon his wiry frame. Cupping his hand over his face, he watched as the familiar sight of a blue pickup truck rode from town towards his mail box. With another snuff, nostrils filling with the scent of tobacco, he spat at the side of the road and waited as it pulled in.<p>

It was when the Howe boy emerged from his truck that Mrs. Belkin decided to come outside and yell out towards them.

"Arthur, don't you be sowin' the fields today, ya hear me? I don't want ya collapsin' in this heat!"

"Can't do it without my machine, anyways, woman!" He called back, waved his arm out dismissively, and turned around as Curtis Howe grabbed his box and followed Belkin towards the shed again. Curtis set the box down once inside and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe at the beads of sweat already forming at his brow line. Belkin snorted at it, scratched at his hairy chin.

"Yer gon git it dirty anyways, boy. Might as well not even try."

Curtis only smiled wryly, put the cloth into his pocket and popped open the hood to the vehicle. The smell of exhaust and oil was strong before, but absolutely pungent with humidity added in. It burned at his nostrils, but he paid it no mind, he was too used to it, enjoyed it too much.

His gloved fingers ran over the coils and the grooves along the engine, felt for the pieces he sought out, and then began to twist them out, pouring excess oil out and watched it run over his fingertips and drool onto the machine.

Belkin stayed back and watched for a moment longer, using his tanned arm to wipe at his brow. The sweat along his face had only gotten worse, and he muttered about it without even meaning to.

Curtis turned around and rose an eyebrow, looking at Belkin's face, which had quickly turned red. "You goin to be alright, sir?" He asked.

"Jes mind yer own business, boy." Belkin snapped back, his red face quickly turned into a snarl. He softened, though, at Curtis's recoil, and the way the younger man had turned back to look away from him. With a soft exhale, he rolled his tongue between his lips, and muttered again.

"Ya goin to open yer ranch back up then boy?"

Curtis stayed quiet at first, until Belkin snorted at him, and nodded his head into the open chamber of the vehicle, still not willing to look at the man with him. "Yes sir." He said.

"Good kid. Yer Pa was a good rancher. Said you'd be a good one too."

Curtis could feel the tips of his ears turn red. He knew Belkin was only saying it as his way of apologizing for being short with him; he'd grown used to the man's habits. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but feel a slight giddiness build up from the compliment paid to him by an otherwise stoic sort of fellow. He looked over and found what he'd been looking for, and grabbed the round head of a smart plug in need of replacing. His gloved hand reached and wrapped about it, began to unwind it.

"Keep workin like this for me, kid, and we should be gettin' you a ranch in no time though." Belkin clicked his tongue, and pushed another piece of tobacco past his lips. He chewed, wiped his brow as the sweat continued to roll down his face. "Yup. No time at all."

There was a thud on the ground just as Curtis pulled the plug.

* * *

><p>"Oh my sweet merciful heavens, don't it just feel like the insides of Grandma's old stove today?" Mrs. Harper declared, yet again, as she leaned against the counter inside of Apple's grocery store.<p>

Roxanne couldn't help but to agree with the woman, smiling gratefully as Mrs. Apple brought over tall glasses for all three women, filled to the top with ice cubes. Mrs. Harper immediately made a grab for hers, and pushed a piece past her ruby painted lips. Roxanne thanked Apple quietly as she did the same, grateful at the light shiver that ran down her jaw to her belly all the way to her toes. It was a pleasant enough relief she barely heard Harper rant on:

"And those girls out there in the schoolyard, wearing _jeans _of all things? Hmph! I'd feel sorry for them, if they weren't trying so hard to be so…so…" She trailed off, and stared upwards while wiping a strand of water dripping from her bottom lip. "Now, what was that word the Reverand said last Sunday Mrs. Apple?"

"Deviant?"

"Deviant! Yes! Well, it's just like my Grandmother raised me to be as lady like and charming as possible. No boy really likes a girl in pants anyways." She said all this while patting at her hair, pursing her lips out as she did so, and looking about as preened as a stuffed bird. Roxanne and Apple exchanged looks and smirks as both noted a small smear of red leading from Monty's lips to her chin.

"You do know we aren't living in the thirties anymore, Honey." Apple began, but Harper only waved her hand dismissively. The smear on her face seemed to spread as she frowned.

"You'se from the city, Mrs. Apple, things are a little different here. Here, a lady is only as good as her dress. My Grandmother and Mother lived by that code." She turned to Roxanne. "You agree with me, don't you, Roxy, Darling?"

Roxanne gave an airy shrug as she walked around the counter. "I'm a city girl too, remember Mrs. Harper?" The pants she wore felt snug about her calves as she walked over to replace a missing can on the shelf of soup ahead. She could only imagine Harper's face now, turning red enough to mimic her lipstick as Mrs. Apple up roared into laughter behind her.

Suddenly the shrieking of police sirens broke the laughter. Everyone in Apple's turned towards the large windows, watching as the sheriff's car sped past, lights flashing wildly. An ambulance soon followed it, and broke even one of Mrs. Harpers little rants, catching the woman's beady eyes enough she pressed herself to the window, nose snubbed up to the glass.

"I knew there was bound to be someone gettin' hurt, what with this heat and all. And oh gracious me!" She crowed, her voice hitching into a note of delight. Stories such as these didn't come every day, but they were always full of some juicy details Harper couldn't wait to pry herself into finding out. Her eyes watched the vehicles as they moved on down the road, taking a left to the only farm on the land that way. "Looks like they're pullin' into Belkin's place. Now, if I remember right, he's the one who hires your husband all the time, Roxanne?"

Mrs. Harper turned and noticed the sudden paleness that overcame the younger woman, not even moving to hide the slightest twitch of a smile from forming. "Oh goodness, don't tell me he's there right _now_!"

"I need to go check on him." Roxanne blurted, and barely heard Harper offering her a ride. She threw herself at the door into the hot air of the outdoors, and barely faltered as she ran across the street and flew past white picket fences and blurs of green and brown.

She sped on, past Robbie who'd been doing some yard work for his mother, and now watched in awe at the little woman that rushed on until she was nothing more than an outline before him.

"God damn." He exclaimed.

By the time she got to the front gates of Belkin farm, she'd easily run what felt a hundred miles. But she didn't, couldn't stop until her husband's form came into view, and it was only then she did.

"Curtis!"

"Roxanne?" Curtis thought he might be hearing things, but behind him, looking ragged and pelting with sweat was his wife, leaning against a fence post. He excused himself from the officer he'd been talking to, and quickly moved towards her.

"Jesus, Roxanne." His hands were on her face, and the gloves felt so welcome and cool against her cheek. Her lashes fluttered with pleasure. "Roxanne, how'd you get here? Don't tell me you ran all the way from Apple's!"

"Saw…" Roxanne panted, wiping the strands of hair sticking to her face. "Ambulance."

"Wasn't me." Curtis assured her quickly. "Belkin…he fell and…and now he's dead."

"Dead?"

"That doesn't matter right now. We gotta get you off your feet before you join him." Curtis quickly moved her to the truck. Roxanne moved robotically, mind all a blur. She barely registered Curtis scolding her, or the officers who asked about her with concern.

It wasn't until they'd gotten home and she was lying on the couch and drinking slowly her second glass of water (at Curtis's prodding) that she finally asked.

"What happened Curtis?"

The man took the glass gingerly from his wife, and rolled it between his fingertips solemnly before he breathed aloud:

"The heat got him. I got there, his wife was complaining'about him workin' in the heat even though he wasn't lookin' too good. We got in the shed, I was workin' and he was talkin' somethin' about the ranch. Was sayin' he was gonna help us so long as I kept workin' for him and then next thing I knew he was face first on the ground and we were callin' for the Sheriff. He wasn't breathin' and oh God Roxy, I should've _seen_ it when his face was so red earlier-"

"Curtis." He met her gaze and felt her fingertips, cooled from the water, place themselves on his cheek. A shiver ran through him. She weakly smiled. "It's alright," She said. "It's not your fault."

His eyes, dark eyes, misted over, and Curtis had to sniff and rub the back of his glove over them.

"It'll be alright, Honey." She whispered. "We're gonna be alright."

* * *

><p>R&amp;R please~<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: None Were Angels, Chapter 3  
>Genre: Family, General<br>Characters: Roxanne, Curtis, Robbie, Leon Rickman's telephone, and Micheal  
>Pairings: CurtisRoxanne  
>Summary: Another unedited chapter. Starting to get into the fort, I'm trying to work on chapter flow here, and grasp a certain sense of emotional turmoil between Roxanne and Curtis.<br>Herp a derp derp, there's also iconic stuff with trees. Mmmn trees.  
>Also oh hey, a new character. You may recognize him somewhere.<br>Disclaimers: I don't own TF2 stuff, that belongs to Valve. IB

* * *

><p>TOWN, 1970<p>

The smell of an apple tree and the light whip of a breeze across his sweaty face told Robbie that his job was finally done again. But instead of sitting and waiting for Mr. or Mrs. Howe to come out and let him in, the boy walked up to the door and stood there, frowning and wondering just how to proceed.

He looked to that tree now, and saw how the buds were beginning to harden out, giving way to lime green fruits that looked smaller than golf balls. A couple had fallen to the ground by now, he'd crushed one under his foot when he ran here, and the poignant scent of apples was strong. But there was one, he watched now, that hung so high, and was so small, that it gave off barely any appearance at all. Robbie would've missed it too, had he not been staring so long at this tree instead of knocking at the door as he'd originally intended to. But there it was, resting among so many leaves that were just now unfurling, ripe with green, even in the heat of this summer.

It wasn't going to last long, Robbie figured, this little tree. Not in a place such as Texas. And that little apple at the very top would be the first to roast, on its little perch so close to the sun.

"We planted that when we moved here."

The voice made Robbie jerk in place before he looked to see Roxanne looking out of the door frame at him. Her hair was in some sort of messy bun, dark curls becoming rivulets across her eyes and cascading down her cheekbones as she walked to stand beside him, looking at the same tree. Her eyes, usually bright, were dulled in the morning glow.

"My daddy bought it for us as a wedding gift, and we put it up front. " She crossed her arms before her breast. "…Curtis told him apple trees don't do well in Texas."

"It's why there aren't many out here." Robbie watched as the young woman only smiled, and didn't really look at him until he held out a small bundle of envelopes to her. She took it in hand and began to leaf through them, frowning at the ones that could only be bills and sighing as she tucked those beneath her arm.

Robbie recognized well that unease in her posture from his own parents, and he moved from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say, exactly.

"It's been awhile since Mr. Belkin died, hasn't it?" He asked, barely aloud. Roxanne stayed quiet and he wondered if she heard, until she nodded. And then it was quiet again, a breeze picked up once more, and danced across their cheeks and noses. Robbie chewed at his lower lip, and wrung his fingers together. He asked another question, had Mr. Howe found another job yet?

"No." Roxanne stopped herself from growling it out. Everyone was constantly asking this same thing, day in, and day out. A constant reminder and a constant annoyance. But Robbie only asked now because he was concerned, she could tell, from the look on the young boy's face to the way he quieted when she answered pointedly. After all, he had been nothing but kind since the day Curtis had invited him into their home some months ago. She felt a twinge of guilt, and asked him if he wanted to come in for some breakfast.

"Curtis left without any," She sighed. "So I haven't had any yet either. If you're hungry like I am, you're welcome to join me."

The boy's face instantly lit up as he followed Roxanne into the house, already jabbering on about his parents, and mentioned once or twice, about some goats he'd seen a month ago when his father took the family to a zoo on a trip a few towns over. Roxanne half listened, a wistful smile planted across her features as she poured some coffee and began to set out a pan. The oven hummed as she clicked it on, and turned to the boy.

"Would you mind getting the eggs ready, Robbie?"

"Sure thing, Mrs. Howe." The boy made it to the fridge, and opened it to find it rather bare. Not completely, but compared to the insides he had admired on his visits before, so full to the brim, it was a little disappointing. He found the eggs easily and opened the carton to find just two remaining. Roxanne noticed this too, and she frowned.

"Oh…I'm sorry, Robbie. You can have both; I'll just have to go shopping later today."

"No, Mrs. Howe, you have one, and I'll have one."

"You're sweet, but you're also the guest." Roxanne took them and placed both softly onto the countertop. "You like them scrambled right?"

"Yes ma'am." Robbie sat at the table and fingered at the lace tablecloth before him, listening at the hiss of butter slapped onto the now hot pan before the eggs were cracked and added too. The sounds of cooking, and the lack of conversation, stifled him more than anything.

"Where is Mr. Howe anyways?" He asked, attempting small talk.

Roxanne did not turn around, instead stretching over to grab something from the spice rack as she worked. "He's looking for a job in Charlotte." She answered.

"Charlotte's so far away, though." Robbie frowned. "It'd take him half a day to drive there and back."

"I know…" Her voice turned soft, barely audible amidst the sounds of cooking. She sighed. "I went looking for a job there a week ago, myself."

"And did you find one?"

"Not a single one." She sighed as she deemed the eggs ready, and pulled them up and upturned them onto a plate before the boy. He watched the small yellow mountain form before him, and thanked her jubilantly before he set to eating. Roxanne watched him, a bemused smile on her face as she rested her chin into the crook of her palm, her gaze moving towards the window pane. The boy couldn't help but notice the tired glaze over her eyes, as he too looked out and saw the backyard beyond the house. Weeds and broken wood lay where a barn or a coop must have once been, erupting from endless spans of crooked and brown grass.

It was Roxanne's turn to toy with the table cloth, as she smiled wistfully. "When he told me about the ranch he grew up on," She muttered, and he looked up from her fingers wringing the cloth to her face, still smiling with light mirth. "I couldn't help but envision this beautiful scenery, like from all the movies I saw as a girl. He did tell me it'd fallen into disrepair, but I didn't care. It was his home, and he wanted me to make it my home too, with him."

Robbie stayed quiet. Once, he remembered being jealous of this home and their nice things, where his family still lived in a small home barely able to fit them all. It was a small home, it was, but the way the boy figured, it was his and he should be proud of it. And he truly was. From the creaking floorboards to the yellowed paint; each carried a memory of which he'd not trade for anything in the world. He figured it might be the same for them, and this old ranch. Even if they were lucky to have as much as they did.

Robbie was young, but he felt he understood the idea of sentimental things, and that when a woman was crying about anything, it was best to listen and let her get it all out. He'd seen his father do it many times, when his mother cried over the bills.

"It'll be alright, Mrs. Howe." He said, mostly repeating what he'd heard his father say. "The good Lord'll watch over you both."

She turned her head to look at him, leaning forward still on her hand. "You think so?"

"I do." He didn't know if he did really. But it seemed to cheer her up somewhat, she was half smiling again.

"Thanks, Robbie." Roxanne sat back into her chair and crossed her arms before her breast again. "I'll stop feeling sorry for myself now."

"Just remember me when you're hiring extra hands for your ranch, Mrs. Howe." He bit into the eggs again, and hummed his approval.

* * *

><p>Charlotte, 1970<p>

"I'm sorry, Mr. Howe, was it? You have an extremely good resume, but we're just not looking to hire anyone at the moment. You can understand, right?"

The clerk, a man too old to be drafted into the war, offered Curtis a despondent smile as he handed back the paperwork. Curtis returned the gesture with a similar expression. The man must have found the look pitiable enough, as he quickly suggested:

"Why don't you try that truck stop?" Bushy brows fell as the clerk thought harder about it. "The one that sells those sandwiches? Oh what's it called…?"

"Clancy's?" Curtis said.

"That's the one." He nodded with a snap of his fingers. "I heard they's was lookin' for someone new."

"I know," Curtis replied. "I had lunch there, and they're looking for a new dishwasher."

"Well, it might not be the most luxurious of options, but it'd put dollars in your pocket, boy." The man shifted to begin whatever mundane tasks he had behind that counter top. "It's either that, or the city. Charlotte's not really hiring any, either." He drifted off as he brought up a rag to wipe at the countertop. "Damn good sandwiches too," He grunted.

Curtis felt another pang in his belly at that, but he smiled and thanked the man quietly as he left the building to return to his truck. Once inside it he sat back, sighing aloud as he looked over the sign. Bigg's Steel Rods, it read. He hadn't known what they might offer, but if it involved steel, he figured he might have some sort of place there. But they weren't hiring. It'd been the sixth, maybe eighth time he'd heard that alone today. Another dead end and the skies were beginning to grow dark.

He promised when he left that he'd return with good news, but it seemed he'd be disappointing Roxanne again.

Roxanne… Lately, she'd been worried about the ranch. Not just about rebuilding it either, but keeping it. The two had big plans for it, but as the months had gone by, the money from Belkin's paychecks grew thin and those aspirations became worries. There was no time for dreaming, or lovemaking, and certainly no time to make a baby. That had probably been the hardest on Roxanne. The look on her face when she agreed to wait on their baby plans had torn him. They both knew it was for the best, but it didn't stop it from hurting anyways.

So when he left that morning to go to Charlotte, the closest town to their own, he swore he'd return with good news: a new job at best or an interview at the least. And so far, he'd had neither. He'd mostly come across apologies and excuses. Or his favorite: to check out the city, which was a good many miles away. To which he simply answered: "It isn't an option."

And it really wasn't. To work there was to move there, and while they'd have enough money for an apartment or even a small home, as well as a baby, it'd mean selling the ranch for good to get all those things. That thought alone: of selling this land, which he watched his hardened father work on until he died, and the one his wife dreamed of restarting and raising their family on, gave Curtis's stomach a harder churn than facing people ever could.

With another sigh, he turned the car on and thought he might as well give that Clancy's place a go. The waitress said something about needing a dish boy, since their own had gone off to Vietnam. But he'd barely turned the corner out of the parking lot and into the road when his elbow brushed against something in the back seat. Idly, he reached back and threw it onto the seat with a plop, not bothering to look until he pulled up to that restaurant, only to find it the windows dark and their lot empty. Closed early.

"Shit." Curtis sighed, and stole a glance to the side, seeing that paper envelope lying beside him. A blue colored stamp sealed the front, the letters BLU standing in logo. And Curtis clearly remembered that visit by that strange man with the golden tooth some months ago, on the day before Belkin died. He pulled the truck to the side of the restaurant now, almost secretively, and parked where a street lamp was sparking to life and cast orange hues and shadows over him. Then he pulled out the envelope, and stared a good hard minute or so at the label alone.

Builders League United, it read. A blue shape that resembled a wrench decorated the words from behind. Curtis licked his lips, and wondered when they had gotten so dry. With a nervous twitch, he opened the envelope, and almost hesitated the moment the paper cracked, as if he'd detonated some sort of explosive rather than wrinkle a paper.

He told himself it was only mild curiosity, and that he wasn't doing anything really bad by looking at it. The papers shifted out and into his waiting palm, a letter with Curtis's name on it, acknowledging that this was meant for him alone. Beneath that was a humble letter typed out from a Miss Pauling, something about his credentials, and how she was happy to recommend him a job there. The words fumbled together into blurs, even after reading it three more times, just to be safe.

He found a brochure tucked in the middle of the paperwork, something about Engineering opportunities offered at BLU. He licked his lip again as he leafed through that, and stopped at the page about pay.

Curtis felt his breath leave him at the mere sight of those numbers. It had to be some kind of farce, he figured. There was war involved, Rickman had mentioned that, and that in itself was crazy enough. He almost threw the packet aside but proceeded through the other paper work. It was all rules, regulations, things he'd found when joining college. And at the end of it all, another letter from Rickman, with simple enough words: Hope to hear from you soon, Curtis. Leon.

A card had been attached, with a number. It was simple, precise, and full of a confidence that matched Rickman's appearance that day awhile back. Something in all this paperwork and in that man unsettled Curtis, but then his eyes lingered back to that brochure, which held numbers he'd only dream of seeing in a paycheck, and certainly enough to pay for all the ranch repairs and a child, and even that child's tuition and anything else they may need…

Curtis found a phone booth just a few feet from the restaurant, on a corner. There he slid in and with shaking hands, pulled out the card resting in his pocket. He fumbled with it, dropped it to the ground and quietly picked it up again as he pulled the receiver down and to his face. He tried to will Roxanne's voice from his mind and her reaction to Rickman's job as his fingers pushed the numbers in with robotic leisure.

When he heard the ringing on the other side, he mulled over the idea of hanging up quickly, and forgetting this had ever happened. He'd go home, crawl into bed with Roxanne, and try for that job at this nearby restaurant in the morning. They'd at least be able to pay for the bills for a bit longer, anyways. And maybe a new opportunity might come up if-

"Good evening, Leon Rickman's office, this is Sandy speaking." The voice spoke into Curtis's ear, and he fell silent for a moment, mouth drying at once.

"Hello?" The woman on the other end sounded brisk. "Can I ask who is calling?"

Curtis breathed and, barely audible, muttered his name.

"I'm sorry sir, I can't hear you. You're going to have to speak up."

"Curtis Howe." He had to remind himself that he was only calling to ask some questions. That was it. It wasn't final.

"Do you have an appointment with Mr. Rickman, Mr. Howe?" There was the sound of tapping, kind of like a keyboard, and the occasional mechanical beep. Curtis nodded.

"Yes," He answered, and then added quickly: "Well, actually no. Not exactly. I don't know… Um…he came to me about recruitment a few months ago, and he left me this card you see…"

The woman on the other end blurted out. "Wait a few, Mr. Howe. Mr. Rickman just came back in."

He heard a click, some shuffling, and then Rickman's voice replaced the woman's right away.

"Mr. Howe!" He spoke jubilantly. Curtis could practically see that shit eating grin plastered on his face now, tooth shining like some kind of beacon. "I thought I might be hearing from you again."

Curtis couldn't help but shiver at that. His fingers twitched on the receiver. Now he remembered why he hadn't liked the way that man talked.

* * *

><p>Town, 1970<p>

The sun was touching the horizon line by the time Curtis Howe's truck pulled into the driveway back at the ranch. He found Roxanne inside the house, lying on the couch with a white afghan draped over her shoulders. Her bare ankles peeked from beneath the hem, and lay propped on the arm of the chair.

With a wry smile, Curtis reached and rubbed his thumbs beneath her curled toes, and softly greeted her as her eyelids fluttered open, dark eyes finding his at once.

"Rise and shine, Beautiful." He whispered, watching her grunt and sit up. The bun she'd fashioned her hair into that morning had been taken out a bit ago, and it now fell in waves down her shoulders, a few strands splaying across her features. Curtis reached and brushed them out of the way, before leaning to kiss her.

Roxanne smiled sleepily when he pulled away, her eyes still partially closed as she edged aside, giving her husband room to sit beside her. Curtis took it, and the couch dipped with his added weight as he fell back into the cushions, sighing aloud his exhaustion.

"I never want to walk to so many places again." He told her. Roxanne only crooned to him softly, and leaned into her husband's side, tucking her head into his breast bone as his arm moved to wrap itself about her waist. They stayed quiet for a bit, basking in one another for a while longer, before she finally asked:

"Did you find anything?"

There was a sharp intake of breath, which to Roxanne, told her he hadn't. She was about to tell him it was okay, they'd try again together some other time, but to her surprise, Curtis's head bobbed up and down in affirmation.

She craned her neck towards him. "Wait, you did?" She was awake now, a smile breaking across her features. "Curtis! Honey! That's wonderful! That's…" She trailed off at the sight of Curtis's frown, and the way he couldn't turn to face her. The arm about her waist had stiffened as well, and twitched when she reached over and turned his face to look at her.

"Curtis," She whispered as her eyes spanned over his face, shadowed and similar to the expressions he bore around the time of Belkin's death. "What's going on?"

Her husband reached over and grabbed her hands slowly, taking them into his own as he moved to face her. The metal hand felt light, relaxed. But the one of flesh squeezed her hand tight to him. "Roxanne, Darlin'…" He spoke softly. "I'm gonna be goin' away for awhile."

The silence that followed that was stifling. The ticking of the wall clock sounded more like a gong, endless and echoing through him. Roxanne's fingers in his hands tightened, as did her lips, until they were no more than thin lines. Her face went from concern, to confusion, and his stomach did flips.

"What are you talking about, Curtis?" He hated this tone of voice on her. It was quiet, almost like him, but borderline angry. He chewed at his lip again.

"I accepted a job at BLU, as an Engineer."

"BLU?" She trailed off again, whispering, thinking. Then her eyes lit up, and she frowned. "That one nut who came looking for you, talking about war that isn't through our country? Curtis, are you crazy?"

"I know it sounds crazy, Roxie, but if you'd just look at some of these things that they can do, and the pay! It's just…"

"I don't care about the pay, Curtis!" Roxanne had already burst from his arms, and was standing a good foot from him, her fingers splayed into her hair as she held the sides of her head. "You promised me you weren't going to even remember this job, and suddenly a few months down the road, you're going to take it?"

She was pacing now, the way she'd always done when they had their first fights. Curtis stayed quiet as he usually did, eyes cast with hers, as she continued on. All her words began to blur together, jumbled and full of truth. God, he told himself he wouldn't do this when he asked her for her hand. That he would always be the attentive husband. And he knew she spoke nothing but truth now, it was crazy.

But he wanted to believe that this was a possibility out of all of this. All he knew was that they were willing to pay him big for building machines and that it'd be enough for everything they needed. Their troubles would be over, and in just a short time period. And watching his wife now, fighting with him, he couldn't help but ache in his chest, praying she'd understand this somehow.

He was doing this, after all, for her.

"Curtis, this is a war they were talking about! People _die_ in wars! You. You could die in this war!"

He flinched visibly. His chin nodded into his chest bone as he mustered to look at her, only to find her eyes wild, her hair perfectly unstable about her face.

God, she was beautiful, he thought.

"I know, Darlin." He spoke, shoulders tense. "But I can't back out now. I've already signed the contract."

Her eyes sparked at that. "What, so now they have agencies down in Charlotte?"

"Yeah, some steel rod company initially hired me, actually…"

"What the hell does steel piping have to do with this?"

"They make stuff for BLU, affiliation or something along those lines… anyways, I just had to go back to this building and say I was looking for a job with BLU, and they set me right up."

"Oh, and that doesn't sound suspicious at all to you?" She quipped.

Of course, she was right again. It'd been extremely strange how that older man behind the counter looked at him when he went in again and told him he was looking for a job. After being reprimanded, and reminded they weren't hiring, all it took was that one three letter word that sounded like a color to make the man shut his mouth, and pull out the contract. It was done all in secrets, and with codes, and made Curtis feel more and more like he was doing something illegal, rather than going behind his wife's back.

Leon suggested he lie to her, told him to say he was working for Biggs rather than BLU, and the old man had even said that'd be just fine if he wanted to use it as a cover up for his family. That it was highly suggested anyways.

Curtis couldn't do that to Roxanne, he wasn't a liar, and he wasn't going to start now, least of all with his wife.

"I know it sounds crazy, Roxie." He tried again to explain. "Hell, I'm scared. I feel like I'm just runnin on some crazy ass scheme just because of some gut feelin and some dollars. But…but if this could really give us all that we need. Then…then in just a couple o' years we can have this place fixed up for good and you could have your baby and…"

She was shaking her head again. He stopped.

"Is this what this is all about, Curtis?" Her voice had gotten low by now, and about as rigid as her body. She stared at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. "The baby?" Her voice cracked. He was unsure if she was ready to cry. "I won't have a baby if you come home in a box anyways! I just…" She stopped, paced again, from the couch, to the kitchen. Her footfalls were heavy and mad. "I just can't believe you'd do this to me!" There was the audible slam of the doorway, leaving Curtis to sit there in tense silence and staring towards the floor, wishing it would swallow him up.

* * *

><p>It took him a good few minutes to rebuild his nerves before he went looking for her, and when he found her, she was sitting on the porch swing in silence, eyes fixated on the horizon line facing the house.<p>

Around them, the sun began to slowly sink it's way down to the ground. Brilliant golden hues washed across the land she was staring at, leaving the few trees that grew nothing more than a black silhouette against a painted background. The apple tree itself, as fragrant as it was, became similar and Curtis watched as another small fruit fell with an audible thud into the grass.

"Can I…" He caught himself, cleared his throat, and tried again, louder, this time. "I mean… is this seat taken?" His hands gestured at the seat beside her on the porch swing. And when she didn't answer right away, he sighed, and slowly sank into it anyways.

Curtis watched the black outline of that apple tree they'd planted a year or so back; its shadow now stretching out towards them against the darkening oranges and reds painted across the sky. Slowly, these colors ebbed into the blues and purples of twilight, which illuminated even the striking brown grass that emerged into it below.

They stared out at it for so long, it seemed, that his breath hitched when at last she did speak: "I remember the first time you brought me here…" She said, voice full of wistful memory. "I thought this was the most amazing sight."

"Yeah…" He breathed again, relieved. "You don't see things like this in the city, much." His eyes wavered over towards the darker half of the sky, where dots began to blink into view, like a glittering necklace worn across the canvas. Beneath, the shadows too grew dull and stretched further yet, spreading past their porch and dipping at their feet.

There was a pregnant pause between them. Looking to her now, staring out at the expanse of land and sky before them, Curtis could feel the pit of his stomach drop again. They were silent still, even as Curtis pressed his foot into the wood on the porch, and pushed against it. The swing creaked and groaned as they slowly tilted this way and that. And he continued this for a short time, before he sighed. She made no indication to continue, and he rubbed his arms.

"It…it's grown quite a bit." He gestured to the tree before them, and watched as another fruit fell to the ground. They were small, and inedible, but they'd grown nevertheless. It didn't seem the effort to start some meaningless conversation between the two of them worked, until Roxanne sighed.

"Apple trees don't grow well in Texas…" She muttered. "That's what you told Daddy."

"Yeah?"

"And sweet country boys like you don't grow well in places like BLU."

She hadn't meant to say it in the way it sounded, but Curtis couldn't help but feel a slightly curl of anger rise at the mere mention of that.

"Now wait a minute." He said, and caught her eye at last. "I…I may be shy and quiet. And…well hell, I'm even a cripple. But Roxie, don't ever tell me I can or cannot do something. You ain't my mother, and you certainly are not my father."

She stared for a bit, still quiet, and he couldn't help but notice just how damn cold it was growing now. Curtis could feel the hairs upon his arms and at the back of his neck prickle. He rubbed his hands together and tried to mutter a quick apology:

"Roxanne. …I didn't mean to hurt you none."

The look on her face, the shake of her head, and he worried he'd angered her again. But she only sighed.

"I still think," She said. "That this is the stupidest thing you could do. But…" And she wavered, but still turned to him, still looked at him. And Curtis couldn't help but admire the way the reds in the skies behind her illuminated that spark in her eye. "But if this is what you think you want to do, Curtis," She closed her eyes, almost as if she were still mulling it over inside. "Then I'll support you. I'm your wife…not your protector. …I guess, sometimes, I forget about that."

"Oh Roxie…"

"But!" She emphasized this sharply, with her finger pointed towards his nose. "You can't forget that I'm here, waiting for you. Not ever." That finger was slowly joined by the others on her hand, and these moved to cup his face, which he leaned into. "You can't die on me, Curtis Howe. Don't play the hero. Please." He swore her voice had broken there. "I need you here," She whispered. "With me."

Curtis's eyes slowly closed, his hand reached up and wrapped warmly about the one on his face. He heard her whisper a soft: "Promise me." And he nodded, just as the sun slowly sank from view and night washed over them at last.

"I promise." He said in a voice as low as that sun. "I promise."

* * *

><p>San Antonio, 1970<p>

There was an irony in the station being named Sunset, Roxanne thought, and a horrible irony that did not help the light tremble deep within her.

They had arrived that Saturday morning, having left early on in the morning, and by that time the sun peaked in the sky just behind Sunset Station, casting a burnt orange glow across the otherwise tan plaster. There had been another silence between the two, save for random conversations about nothing really: the townspeople, how Roxanne would manage the house, and whether or not she should stay at her parents' house until he came back for the holidays. And now that she stared at the building and all its arches and slanted roof, she could feel a knob begin to form in her throat.

Perhaps it was because of this, or because she could see out of the corner of her eye that Curtis was just as nervous, if not more than she, about this that she squeezed her fingers into his hand even as they grasped onto the handle of his bag. He didn't say anything against it, and they walked in just like that together, and only separated as he moved to the ticket booth and acquired directions.

It wasn't any surprise that Curtis Howe disliked train stations. Nor was it surprising to find the answer was a simple one: they tended to be crowded.

And on that day where he wished more than anything there'd be few people there, since this seemed to be a secretive operation, it was anything but. Crowds were everywhere, faces were scattered, squished together, and he was in the middle of it all. There were tall and short figures, fat and skinny ones, some smelled heavily of perfume, and one in particular of cigarettes. Curtis swore his heart, beating so hard in his rib cage right now, might jump up into his throat if a warm hand were not beside his.

He looked down to see the woman standing with him now. Roxanne was so small, particularly compared to the rest of these people, even bigger than Curtis himself, and yet she stood so firm and constant. He couldn't help but admire that in her. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze in reassurance, and he could feel his heart slow just ever so slightly.

"Did you remember everything?"

Curtis looked up from his bag, and tried to mentally visualize everything that was in it. A good majority of his clothing, hygiene essentials, including his shaving kit and the pair of scissors Roxanne used to cut his hair when he asked her to, a pad of paper for writing back, along with a pack of good pens. The other bag beside it was his tool box, and he'd double checked that before even getting in the truck that morning on the drive here. It had everything from his wrenches to a roll of good duct tape. When he had leafed through the paperwork, it'd said that many tools would be provided, but Curtis liked the feel of his own things, which he'd bought with his own money over the years, and so he brought them along.

He let go of her hand for a quick moment to pat along his pockets for a quick check. His wallet sat in his back pocket, full of pictures of Roxanne and himself. His other pocket held a handkerchief, and…

Curtis felt along his rear end a few more times, and then moved to the pockets along his waist, but still no sign of his goggles. A worried look stretched over his face until Roxane smiled, and held out her hand, where they were dangling from her fingertips. Sheepishly, he took them and kissed her cheek again, for probably the hundredth time since they had woken up; for while she hadn't much to say that day, Roxanne had taken the liberty to kiss him more often.

"Thanks, Darlin." He said. She returned the smile but it quickly vanished when the train gave out a whistle. Curtis frowned as well, looking back towards the train with the words, Blue Bonnet, painted across it in white. It was an old hauler, with a few passenger cars attached at the end, puffing out black smog from the long exhaust pipe sticking out of its middle and up to the skies.

It was then that Curtis could see from the crowd several faces, chisled faces, all emerging and entering onto the same train. They made him more nervous than any, with their scowls and rough exteriors. Several more appeared, all heading for the same platform and he silently hoped more than a few of them would wander towards another train. No such luck, more still got on, the crowd dispersed, and left Curtis and Roxanne as the only pair on the platform. While he worried over his ride, Roxanne now worried over his things, tutting her tongue along as she did so.

"You should have brought an extra toothbrush, where's your comb?" She said. "Oh there, it is… I hope you packed enough pants." She stopped as his hands wrapped about her arms, pulling her to face him. They stared for a moment, and she attempted to give him a heartfelt, smile, but like him, it couldn't come. She opted for a sad one nonetheless, and she leaned up against him, pressing her face into his breastbone as her nose brushed into the cotton of his shirt. The scent of his aftershave and oil was strong as she closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth.

His arms squeezed her close, as he too knelt to press his face into her hair, soft and untamed in the mild breeze they met outside that morning. They stayed this way for some time, until the third or fourth whistle, and by the time a loud voice echoed over that announcing the Blue Bonnet's departure, did Roxanne's fingers tighten into the shirt on his shoulder blades momentarily, before they pulled apart.

Curtis stared down at her, saw her eyes were glassy, but not watering. Roxanne stared up at him, saw his eyes were distant, but warm. Her hands reached and cupped his face again, and he leaned into that, just as he dipped down and they kissed once, twice. The third time they parted he had to let go with a shiver, and she had to force herself to step back. His bags were taken into hand, and he looked at her once more.

"I'm comin back." He spoke softly. She nodded, wiping a wisp of dark hair behind her head.

"You better." Her lips quirked again as she watched him turn around and begin to walk away towards the waiting train. "I'm waiting for you!" She called out. "So come back and breed with me when you feel like it."

He did a double-take; a man who had been loading the train behind him looked as well, and shook his head as he pushed past the smaller Curtis, who continued to stare at her. At the way she half smirked, he felt a light hearted laugh bubble up. And he let it out, waving at her as she raised her hand in return. It was the last thing she saw as the doors closed, and the train made its way slowly towards the tunnel down the track and then was gone.

* * *

><p>Inside, the train was just like any other train. Save for the fact that it was decorated in nothing but blue, from the seats to the floor tile, there wasn't much to it to Curtis. The passengers were what worried him. If seeing them admist the crowds earlier had startled him, seeing them all grouped together, all muscle and disdain, downright scared him.<p>

Any thoughts he had of this being a simple train ride with barely anyone else on were now diminished. The seats were almost completely full, he saw, and full of brutish looking men with chiseled jawlines and hardened brows. Some of them were fat and tall, bordering gigantic. Others were small and almost frail looking, until he could see the faintest twitch in their eyes, and the way their hands would instinctively go for their pockets for almost anyone passing by. Curtis gulped, and really wished he had that old watch to look at as he walked behind a broad shouldered fellow, who pushed himself to sit beside a few in helmets. They grunted their greetings, and glared at Curtis when he appeared behind their friend. With a jerk of the head, he was told to move on quietly, and he did so all too quickly, moving towards the first open seat his eyes locked onto.

A bag was thrust into that seat.

"Taken." The voice that spoke shook Curtis more than the man it belonged to. Curtis glanced up the broad arm holding onto the bag to see a pair of beady eyes set beneath a deep scar, which ran across the face. He gulped lightly.

"Sorry." Curtis breathed, backed away, and felt the back of his legs knock into someone else.

"Watch it, asshole." A tight voice scowled behind him. Curtis shuffled away and never bothered to look where he was going, head low enough he hadn't noticed the next empty chair until a hand touched his elbow.

"Hey, Mate." Curtis's face jumped up at once, apologies at the ready, but found the one talking to him was smiling. His eyebrow was quirked, as if puzzled over Curtis's reactions, but he was smiling anyways. And that was a welcome sight indeed.

The man lowered his hand from Curtis's elbow to gesture at the empty seat before him, a silent invitation to join him. Curtis took it without complaint, quickly sliding in and quietly thanking this stranger a few too many times as he set his bag nearby.

"Don't mention it." The man spoke, or chuckled. It was a warm sound, either way, particularly in this mass of scowls and scorn. "You must be one of the newbies aye? Everyone who's new acts like they just shit their pants first day. I think I was actually rather smart to have emptied meself 'fore I boarded too. I was unlucky enough to be sittin' by them Heavies me first train ride." He gestured towards the larger men, the ones Curtis was sure fit half the space alone with their massive bodies.

"Ah..." Curtis felt grateful he was sitting before someone as lanky as the other. Talkative as he was, at least he wasn't chancing being crushed with him over there. He closed his mouth as the other gave him a sort of impish smile, the ends of his mouth curled up high enough to hide beneath the long bridge of his nose. Curtis didn't know what to say, or do, honestly, and opted to nod his head down to unconsciously check his wrist for a watch. He cursed himself when he saw bare skin.

Then the man was chuckling.

"It's quarter till arvo if yer hurtin to know the time there, Mate." There was the sound of a zipper coming undone, and Curtis looked up to see the man had reached into a duffel bag beside him to produce a small plastic cup. It was held out to Curtis, and it was taken without much thought. It was warm in Curtis's hand, as he pinched the plastic in his fingers before a spoon was tossed into his lap as well. His hands jumped to grab it before it landed onto the floor, his knees knocking together.

"Thank you um..."

"Micheal."

"Micheal?" Curtis peeled back the plastic on top of cup, and found dark brown pudding inside of it, and instantly the scent of chocolate hit him. The man, Micheal, hummed in reply and nodded as he was already spooning some from his own cup into his mouth.

"Micheal Hovell, it's nice te meet someone who doesn't have a stick up their ass already, Mister...?" At this, the man looked sheepish, teeth holding the metal utensil in between them as he grinned at Curtis. In turn, Curtis couldn't help but return the look, chuckling softly as he took a small bite of the snack.

It was a cheap thing, something you got at any grocery store, but amid all the low grumbling and edgy stares, away from Roxanne, it tasted sublime.

"Curtis Howe." He introduced himself, and Micheal held out his hand.

"Nice to meet ye, Curtis." He said.

"…Likewise." Curtis hesitated, and then took his as well.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R please.<p>

It should be noted, that while my oc's are unoriginal and come from the same place as game characters, they're not the same people.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: None Were Angels, Chapter 4

Genre: Family, General

Characters: Curtis, Micheal, Dell Conagher, Conrad Sir, various dickheads

Pairings: None (Hint at Curtis/Roxanne)

Summary: Finally getting into the fort, my fanfic assumes that there are Heads of Class, who teach new recruits for two months, before they resume their own way as a mercenary in Team Fortress. Dell from the original game is one of the only original game characters who will make an appearance, explanations for that later. :Y Take it or leave it, it's just the idea.

Also I know 2Fort is one of the smallest, but I assume it as one of the most important since it was one of the first maps created. Thus I chose it as the initial training grounds. It's better to assume it's grown since the time frame in the game somewhat.

Anyways, all about Curtis and his initial take on 2Fort life. As expected, he's not very happy. But he might have a friend to help him along.

Also there's a bird in here. Her name is Tapioca.

Again, all chapters are still unedited for the most part and will remain that way until I get the bulk of them done and I have the time.

Ugh, I feel this chapter relied way too heavily on conversation to pull itself through. And that my descriptions are sorely lacking and/or repetitive.

Oh well. Cie la vie.

Disclaimers: I don't own TF2 stuff, that belongs to Valve. IB

* * *

><p>2 Fort, 1970<p>

It was a place of arid, deserted land, with nothing more than a bunch of cacti and dead animal bones rotting away in the sunlight. And sand, sand for miles around, as far as the eye could see.

The most beautiful thing, one could say, was the view from atop one of the few mountains and the one or two waterfalls beneath the three canyons. Two of these canyons of which were man made, and heavily polluted by now with human interventions. Metal buildings were erected into the bedrock, and tunnels had been long since dug and raped the soil of any trace of what it had once been.

And at the heart of it all, lay two tall buildings, each reaching up towards the heavens and constantly growing over the years, stretching further upwards. It was as if the buildings themselves were vying for the right to touch the sky first.

One of these buildings was red, but the one of main concern for this story would be the one of blue. Unlike its wooden counterpart, it was made up of sheets of metal and concrete. It was a factory, some would say when looking at it for the first time, but in truth not many really knew what it was for. There were no towns nearby the twin buildings, and nothing grew around them either; nothing but an electric fence, and plenty of signs that warned against trespassers.

Behind the blue building, was another building still large in size. It was unknown what that was for outside either, but there a train platform had been set up and a dirt road that lead out of the gates beyond to the highways were the only two means of getting in and out beyond the fences. Outside, they too appeared barren and one would think them devoid of anyone if not for the parked cars nearby, or the constant noise that resonated within.

There were strange noises, loud noises that were for the most part, dulled by the concrete and metal walls. And yet there were people whom had passed by on a drive or something, who claimed they heard gunshots and screaming within. No one lived near enough to the building to care, nor did they do much more than the occasional call to the police. Of which, they were directly told to ignore it, or were ignored themselves.

And so the buildings stood there still, raising their hands up as high as they could, in the middle of a dead lock with the other, and in the middle of a dead land.

It was a Friday morning when the new train was scheduled to arrive. Friday, so that they could be orientated, and have two days to get used to the place before the real training began. At least, that's what Dell Conagher and the others were told. To him it was laughable really, to say that they were going to give them any time at all to get used to a place like this. He remembered well when he had first arrived, and they threw him into the throes from day one. He hadn't had initial training, just a lot of background knowledge and a father's stories about this place. It'd gotten him this far, and he'd done well enough for himself, he supposed. Then again, they were no longer just taking in the best; they were taking in most anyone and making them the best now. There was a significant difference in that. And a significant difference in those who came to this place nowadays.

Which was why he took to watching the platform from his perch, a window in one of the side buildings, where he could get a good view outside of the train slowly approaching, carrying with them the same faces he'd come to recognize, and new ones to boot. He took a slight drag of the cigarette he'd been nursing for the past minute or so, tasted the sweet tang in the back of his throat, and watched the white smoke dance from his nostrils and rise in air. There was a good, mild breeze today, and it took the smoke with it and blew it away from his face and eyes. It also cooled his shaved head, and for that, he was grateful. The man was covered in grease and sweat stains still dotted his pits and in the creases of his clothing from work earlier that morning. It picked up wildly with the train coming to a loud screeching halt, metal rubbing against metal, but Dell's hearing wasn't what it used to be, and so he just watched pessimistically as the white stick between his fingertips grew small enough that the wind took it in its clutches and ripped it from his hands. He watched it fall but not hit the ground, opting instead to look up as the train doors opened and bodies began to file out onto the platform. From the building emerged several people, and soon the once silent area was filled with loud voices and luggage being thrown about.

"Goddamn is this heavy!" Someone's voice screamed above the rest, and a bag was heaved off capriciously from the luggage cart where it landed and burst. Tools spilled from it, scattering across the pavement before being covered up by more bags. Soon enough a pile grew, and then depleted as more men came to claim their belongings.

At last the tool bag was seen again, and a shorter man came over to check it. He looked pitiably down, and began to gingerly return them into their bag, frowning all the while. One of the soldiers looking for his things stepped over a few of them, not bothering to take care for the smaller man who was now frantically moving to return his things to their rightful place.

The sight couldn't get any sadder, Dell thought, as he lit up another cigarette. Then a tall man Dell hardly recognized came around and bent down to help the fellow with sorting his things. Still others moved on, barely taking a glance, and leaving them behind to go inside themselves. The train moved forward, and left behind the platform with a heave of black sooted exhaust. The taller of the two waved it from his face, and seemed to laugh as the other only seemed even more exasperated.

Dell kept an eye on that smaller one. "He's not gonna last long." He said to no one in particular, and then exhausted his cigarette in the ashtray before rising to go meet the new recruits.

When Curtis arrived at this place, 2 Fort as Michael had called it, he'd been marveling at the sight of civilization in the vast expanse of land they'd been passing through. For miles and at least a good day or so, he'd been staring at nothing but sand out the train window. When he kept doing so, Michael had said to look for a pair of cacti that looked like they were groping one another. Eventually, he'd seen two cactus plants entwined together, arms stuck at the lower region of their bodies, and sure enough, looked just like what Michael said. The soon enough the train began to slow down, and Curtis saw the blue building come into sight.

It was a huge one alright, something like a factory, and this eased Curtis quite a bit. Factory work seemed genuine for someone like himself. He knew how to maintain heavy machinery, and with one of this size, they'd surely need a team of engineers to keep it up and running. All that talk of war eased from his mind as he stepped out and took a moment to strain his head up and stare at the sign that hung over the large doors that lead inside.

BLU 2Fort, it read. Property of Blutarch Mann. Built and established in…

"Hey Mate, don't forget to get yer stuff o'er there." Curtis felt a hand clap onto his shoulder, and looking over, he found Michael grinning behind him. The taller male was holding onto his duffel bag, the one Curtis concluded during the trip, was full of nothing more than snacks, and had slung it over his shoulder. He gestured again towards a large pile of baggage, which was being thrown haphazardly from the luggage cart and to the ground below. People hurried over to grab their own things, becoming a mass of bodies shoving around to get through. When the gigantic men, the ones Micheal called Heavies, came, Curtis almost flinched. Yet the others didn't seem stupid, and bounced out of the way to let them pass. He was certain a smaller man like himself couldn't do the same, and stood back until the crowd dispersed some more before he ventured forth to find his things, mainly, the tool bag he had left. He found it on the ground, the zipper undone and many of his things splayed all over. For a moment Curtis stared in disbelief before he hurried to clean it up, only to have various men coming over and stepping over it and sometimes almost on himself. Curtis stared, dumbfounded, as one particular man in a helmet kicked at one of his wrenches while he was working a large suitcase squeezed in the middle of the pile. It flew across the platform, landing on the tracks below and was lost as the train whistle sounded and began to move.

Someone laughed, waving away the smog from in front of his face, and only then did Curtis notice that Michael had stopped to come and help him.

"Jes one o' those days, aye, Mate?" Michael frowned at the look on Curtis's face. "Hey…don' look so blue, she'll be apples right?" When Curtis's face turned to confusion, he waved his hand again. "Ah…it's slang for ah, it'll be…ya know, never mind. Les jes get yer stuff in alright?" His hands moved over the tools, grabbing them by the fistfuls and pushing them into the tool bag alongside Curtis. The smaller man nodded, moved as well, and soon enough they had picked up everything from a screwdriver to his smallest nail. It was done in such a rush that Curtis had barely any time to see where he was going, even past the doors.

Inside, the place was much cooler, despite their being in a desert. The low hum of fans moved above their heads as they moved forward into what looked similar to an office system. There was a hallway, of which was carpeted blue, and had light blue wallpaper that barely fringed near the edges. Several doors lined these hallways, all of which were labeled. Supply rooms of various types, Curtis noted, as he moved past them. He walked behind Michael, and watched the man's back once he grew tired of staring at nothing but blue. They came to a fork where the hallway separated into two separate paths, and Michael gestured towards the left.

"New recruits go there. Ye'll meet yer Head o' Class in there, and be briefed." The sounds of shouting echoed off from that direction, and Michael grinned. "Sounds like ole Sir's already started. Well then, I best be off. See ya sometime there, Curtie."

"Oh..." Curtis stared off in the direction, having just gotten comfortable with the familiar presence, and slowly nodded. His hands gripped tighter onto his bag as he heard the loud voice booming beyond the large door in the direction Michael pointed towards. "I better get goin' then..." He shuffled forward, but not before stopping to turn around. "Michael?"

The taller man turned around, having already begun moving towards his own door way. "Yeah?" His brown eyes glanced over the rim of a pair of aviator sunglasses he'd slipped on sometime after getting off the train. Curtis thought they looked stupid on him, but of course, couldn't bring that up.

"Thanks."

Micheal grinned that wry smile of his again, and pushed those large sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. "Don' mention it." He said, and waved before he was off.

Beyond the door was what appeared to be a sort of cafeteria-esque room. The white brick walls were bright and clean; a sharp contrast to the robin-egg blue ceiling tile. There were neither tables nor chairs, save for up front, where several men had already taken seat and were facing the crowd that had formed. Curtis found himself squeezed as he made his way forward. There was something cold about the room, despite all the bodies there. And Curtis felt his stomach churn at all the faces there, some glancing back as he walked inside, the door creaking open as he came in.

"AND FURTHERMORE, YOU WILL FIGHT TO PRESERVE THE INFORMATION. RELIABLE EVACUATION AND DEMOLITION HAS SOUGHT OUR INTELLIGENCE FOR YEARS NOW. SOMETIMES THEY WIN SOME OF IT, SOMETIMES WE DEFEND IT AND GAIN SOME OF THEIR OWN." It was unintelligible garble to Curtis, coming from a large man with a loud, booming presence, and an even louder voice. He wore a helmet, much like some of the men he'd seen on the train, and upon his clean blue uniform were several badges gleaming proudly upon his chest. Like some kind of decorated soldier, Curtis thought, as he managed to squeeze around and peer between two heads at the man talking.

"YOU WILL BE BRIEFED FURTHER BY YOUR HEAD OF CLASS. HE IS YOUR TEACHER, YOUR MENTOR." The man bellowed again, this time gesturing at the men all in seats, whom looked boredly at the crowd. "YOU WILL LISTEN TO HIM AND FOLLOW HIS EVERY ORDER, OR YOU WILL FIND OUT JUST HOW QUICKLY A BOMB CAN EXPLODE RIGHT BENEATH YOUR FEET, OR HOW QUICKLY A BULLET CAN BE PLACED BETWEEN YOUR EYES. NOT MATTER HOW MUCH EXPERIENCE YOU THINK YOU MAY HAVE NOW, YOU DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH. AND THAT IS WHY YOU WILL BE TRAINED. YOU WILL BE MOLDED. AND YOU WILL BECOME A TRUE FORCE OF NATURE TO BE RECKONED WITH."

The worry of war aroused in Curtis again, and he swallowed, squeezing his bag tight to himself again. It was then that one of those gigantic men had moved, and taken the spot before the two men in front of Curtis. His only line of sight taken, Curtis looked to shift and find a new place to stand. Around him he only found more helmeted men, all scowling at him from beneath the rims of their headgear. He gulped and stood still then, just as the man who was yelling continued:

"I WILL ANNOUNCE THE NAMES OF YOUR HEADS AND THOSE OF YOU IN THAT CLASS MAY LEAVE WITH HIM. LISTEN CLOSELY, MAGGOTS. I DO NOT REPEAT MYSELF."

"MR. WILLIAM DALBY! SCOUT CLASS!" With that, a calmer voice called out after the soldier's.

"'Kay can I get all Scout recruits to follow me now? Cool."

The crowd murmured and shifted. Curtis craned his neck to see a group of men following a young looking red head, whom lead them out a set of doors head only just noticed beyond the set of chairs. He'd hardly seen what was beyond past that mass of bodies, when another name was called out.

"MR. JAMES HOWARD. SNIPER CLASS!" More left the crowds, and Curtis could feel the tension in his shoulder rising as he strained to listen. Snipers? What in the world did they need those for?

"MR. NICHOLAS FAUST. HEAVY CLASS!" Immediately the room filled with the sound of loud stomping, and when it was gone, Curtis could already feel the room was so much wider than before. The men that squeezed all about him had shifted, and left him in a comfortable space.

"MR. DOUGLAS DUBOIS. PYRO CLASS!" Curtis frowned as he wondered what they had meant by a pyro, and the gas masked-wearing man that lead a few new recruits away with him didn't ease the feeling that crept up from the word at all.

The words seemed to drone on and on, endlessly, slowly taking away Curtis's attention as he glanced towards all the missing faces, and noticed another wearing a yellow helmet up front. He had been leaning back before in his chair, hardly straining a look at the crowd, but occasionally leaning over to talk to one of the others beside him. He looked old, too old to be in a place like this, Curtis thought, when he saw the wrinkles lining the man's face when their eyes met. The man stared at Curtis a moment longer, before he leaned to talk to another man in glasses. That same one looked to Curtis behind his glasses, gave a wry nod before he wrung his gloved fingers together.

"MR. CHRISTIAN AMSEL. MEDIC CLASS!"

At once the spectacled man stood and straightened his tie. His voice, deep and accented, called out for others to follow. They trailed after his white tail coats out the door, Curtis watching them disappear out of sight.

"MR. DELL CONAGHER. ENGINEER CLASS!"

Then the man in the yellow helmet stood up, and gestured to the crowds. "C'mon." Was all he said, barely audible compared to the others, before he made his way towards the door. Others, about six, Curtis counted, were following after him, and he tensed up as he tried to make his way there too. A pair of larger men were between him and the way through, and they frowned as he approached, making Curtis's mouth go dry.

"Ah…"

"Get going." One barked, and stepped out of the way as Curtis saw only more crowds to squeeze through. He sighed, and began to do so, muttering quiet 'excuse me's all the way.

Finally he'd reached the door, and when he did, he found a small group there waiting for him. The helmeted man, Dell, he was called, was at the head of them. He gazed over at Curtis with a slight curl in his brow, but didn't say anything more as he jerked his head.

"Is that everyone? Good. Let's get goin' then."

Most of them were quiet down the hallways there. They were dark, with only one or two lights on at all along the way. The windows were opened, and a light breeze poured in. The floors were a steel gray, and the walls a light shade of blue, again. There were no real doors, except for a one or two that had clean up written over them. Curtis supposed cleaning supplies were in there, and didn't say anything.

The doors were down dips in the wall, where a small hall would show three doors: at the end, and on either side adjacent to the end door. Each one had a small symbol on it, and it was only when they came to one with a wrench symbol that Dell stopped and went down. He muttered something beneath his breath as he pulled out a set of keys and unlocked them with a jingle, opening the door before walking inside.

The other six followed, Curtis at the end, to a work room. When the lights were flicked on, the first thing everyone couldn't help but notice was the general mess. Tables were covered with machine parts or blue-prints, some even overflowing off the sides of work benches and chairs. The large desk at the front was completely over run, and Dell shoved some of this out of the way to give himself some room to work with.

At the head of the room, behind this desk, was a map of 2Fort hanging upon the wall, at least Curtis assumed that's what it was, it didn't look like it could be a map of anything else. And beside that was an old chalk board in need of cleaning. Half of it was covered in equations and memos to Dell. The older man erased some of them, stared at a top one for a good minute or so, and decided to leave it as he set down his eraser for a piece of chalk to write his name quickly across the board.

"Ya'll can find a seat somewhere." Dell spoke, without turning around. "…Just be mindful where ya set stuff, if ya'd be so kind…"

The quiet room soon became noisy with the sounds of papers shuffling and chairs squeaking against the floor. Curtis found a nearby placement and set himself down, laying his bags at his feet as the others were doing. Dell finally turned back around, found some sort of envelope on his desk, and brought out another wad of paper work to glance over. He fingered through these, glancing up with each one, before nodding and setting it face down back onto the envelope.

"Good." He said. "Looks like we're all accounted for. Well then, welcome to 2Fort, boys." His hands clapped together as he tried to give some sort of smile, but failed. He appeared more tired than anything; with deep grooves running alongside his nose and gray spots beneath his eyes, his mouth pulled back thin wrinkles as he talked, his unshaved chin full of dark stubble.

"My name is Dell Conagher. As our Head Soldier pointed out, I am the Head Engineer. That means I've gotten the highest accreditation as an Engineer, and I've been here the longest of everyone in this class." He rolled his eyes upwards, as if in thought. "I've been Head Engineer since 1954, and I've been working for BLU for longer. Ya'll have just begun yer careers here, some o' ye for the short two year plan, some o' ye for the rest of yer lives, maybe." He shrugged indifferently. "Either way, I gotta teach ye what goes on here, and what we do. I guess ye could call this yer classroom, but in reality it's the work room where we meet n' train n' after trainin' is done, ya'll can find me here and work on yer own stuff where all the supplies are."

"Since we're gonna be workin together, tell us all yer name, n' where yer from, n' what ya did 'fore here so we can get to the real stuff." Curtis felt his stomach sink at that notion, but it really hit the bottom when those eyes came to his again. Dell gestured to him to start, and Curtis licked his lip.

"…Um… me sir?"

"No, the feller behind ye." There were a few chuckles when Curtis checked over his shoulder to find no one there. He turned back around and flushed, nodding his head and keeping his eyes to the bit of tabletop that showed beneath all the clusters of paper.

"My name is…" Curtis felt his voice drop, his finger tips squeezed the handle of his bag. "My name is…is…"

"Speak up, Son. I ain't got all day."

"Curtis Howe, Sir. I'm Curtis Howe." He breathed again, feeling a whole new wave of what resembled nausea washing through him as he could sense all those eyes staring at him, boring into him. Curtis wanted nothing more than to curl up and disappear, but those eyes and their hold on him got him talking.

"I'm from Texas. Southern Texas…"

"What part o' it?" Dell had his hands behind his back. "'M from Bee Cave myself."

"Ah…not many people have heard of it. 'S jes a lil' town not far from Charlotte…"

"Never heard o' Charlotte neither, so guess I wouldn't." Those arms came from behind Dell's back to cross over his chest. He had walked to the front of his desk by now, and was leaning against it. "What'd ye do in this lil ole' town o' yers then, Curtis Howe?" If his voice hadn't sounded serious, Curtis would've assumed he was teasing him, but he answered anyways:

"Fixed farm parts, mostly."

"Ye fixed farm equipment."

"Yes sir, mostly engines. …the farmer didn't know much 'bout 'em."

"Sounds right excitin' Mr. Howe. What 'bout you now?" He gestured towards another sitting not too far from Curtis.

He hardly listened to anyone after that, already feeling numbed out.

It took a good fifteen minutes more because of some rather chatty fellows who nearly played twenty questions with Dell. The older man didn't seem keen on it, but answered most of them to humor everyone. When he'd finally had it, he'd pulled out another paper and motioned for them all to look up.

"I'm under regulation to remind ye all that ye've signed a contract that clearly states ye are not to talk 'bout or disclose any information pertaining to this job to anyone. Violating such can hold severe punishments that will not be filed."

At that the men began to talk. "Wait, what kind of punishments are we talking about here?" One, the chatty one from earlier, spoke up. "What about our worker's rights to know?"

Dell scoffed. "Yer in 2Fort now, Boy. Yer rights were written in black and white in the contract ya'll signed."

* * *

><p>They were soon taken to what Dell called a dormitory. It was, according to Dell, where all the recruits slept, and where new recruits got their 'first real taste' of what this militia was really like. Curtis wanted to ask what he'd meant by that word, wanted to ask if it meant Engineers too were out fighting this crazy war that Leon talked about, but most of all, he wanted to know what his chances of being sent out were if that were the case.<p>

He was scared, he could admit it. He'd promised Roxanne he'd return, so sure that all he'd be needed for was a few repair jobs, but Dell had talked the entire time about battles and battle strategies and battle machines like it was nothing.

And then there was the respawn… he didn't explain much about it, said he'd cover it tomorrow, but the name itself and the promise 'you won't die so long as you stay smart and stay in the respawn' stuck with Curtis more than anything.

The dormitory was far louder than anywhere they'd been in. Doors lined all along the dark blue walls, and most were open to reveal bunk beds and small, almost closet sized bedrooms. A few men stood around in the hallways, some of them in nothing more than their underwear, and they were all hooting at the new recruits that followed after their heads.

"Fresh meat! FRESH MEAT!" They hollered, a few pumping their fists in the air and cheering. "FRESH MEAT GONNA GET BEAT!"

As they passed by a room, one such leaned over and screamed in the face of the recruit in front of Curtis, making both of them jump back. The culprit laughed this high pitched cackle, pointing out at them from his doorway.

"Fucking Engineers! Always the jumpiest on the first day!" He crowed, and continued laughing as they walked on until Dell turned into yet another hallway. There he stopped and made a few motions.

"Ronalds and Wagner, ya bunk here." They moved to the door he pointed to. "Lemins and Clyde, ya bunk 'ere. Issacson and Pember, yer here." The next doors over were filled, and when he turned to Curtis, who stared back more nervously than he'd seen anyone, Dell sighed. "Howe." He said. "We had an uneven number, so you're roomin' with a Sniper class." His hand patted the door to his right, beneath the number plate 34. Curtis nodded numbly. More recruits must have started coming in with their Head for their room assignments, for the chant started up again.

"FRESH MEAT! FRESH MEAT!"

Dell rolled his eyes at it, and didn't give another word as he left Curtis to stand there, dumbfounded, in the middle of the hallway beside door 34.

Curtis stared at the door a bit more, wondering just how to proceed, and wondering just what he was going to do when this 'Sniper' came around. Was he going to be a new recruit like himself? What did a Sniper even do here? Never mind the name implied something he'd rather not think about, but just what would a building company need with someone who sniped anyways?

Either way, the shouting was getting to him, and he hoped the walls inside weren't thin enough to carry over noise from the next hallway over. Curtis turned the handle and slowly opened the door to walk inside, shuffling as he moved forth, and came face to face with white feathers.

There was a loud squawking noise, and suddenly Curtis felt something scratching at his cheeks. He immediately dropped his bags to bring up his hands over his eyes, and felt whatever it was attacking him grip onto his glove and climb to the top of his head where it clung on with tiny claws that poked into his scalp.

"Oi! Tapi!" Another voice shouted from across the room. Curtis had barely time to register there had been a man sitting on the bottom bunk of the bedset all this time. "Git off the bloke already! Bad bird! Sorry 'bout that, Mate, can't take 'er anywheres…can ye jes' do me a favor n' come 'ere so I can grab 'er n' … OI. CURTIS?"

Michael came up then, all grins, one hand holding a pair of clippers and the other a slice of apple, half chewed. He waved the fruit at Curtis as he closed the door quickly behind him. "I didn' know I was gettin' a new roomie, n' 'ere it's you! Lucky aye?" From the way Curtis still stared at him, wide eyed and almost slack jawed, Michael laughed uneasily, motioning up. "Ah…sorry again 'bout that… Tapi hates when I groom 'er nails, see…even when she NEEDS it!" At that, he directed up at what must've been Tapi, who was resting upon Curtis's head still. Curtis felt those little claws dig deeper into his scalp, and little specks of pain dotted up everywhere. So he tried to reach up to and grab whatever it was up there. But Michael grabbed back at his hands, and shook his head.

"Wouldn't do that if I was you, Mate." He said. "Tapi's a real wild animal. Got 'er from the jungles back 'ome. She's bit me 'fore an' I'm tellin' ye, ye don't want that beak tearin' yer skin."

"You have some kind of wild bird here?" Curtis' voice shook almost as hard as he was. His hands lowered slowly, while Micheal nodded, his eyes again above his head at the creature. He moved forward languidly, almost fluidly, holding out the apple.

"Yeah." He hissed softly. "But is' all apples, jes watch this." The apple slice twiddled between his fingertips, and the taller man whistled just so softly. Curtis stayed still as he felt two feet on his head move backwards away from the approaching figure, and when it hissed, he nearly jumped.

"Oi oi oi, don' let 'er smell yer fear…" Michael whispered. He grinned and reached upwards, fingers outstretching with the fruit. "C'mon then ye lil gremlin…" Michael cooed. "Come to yer Dad. C'mon Tapi…C'mon pretty girl."

It seemed to be working, for Curtis could feel those pins on his head gently remove themselves, and then the weight on his head slowly moving before it finally came off entirely. Micheal laughed triumphantly, his hand slowly moving back to himself with a small, gray colored bird upon it. Curtis stared for a moment longer, as it tilted it's head at him, it's little curled beak full of the apple slice, and walked itself up Michael's arm to stay at his shoulder.

"You…you got a cockatiel?"

"Thas right, she fell out 'er nest when I found 'er on my last visit to Oz. Poor thing wasn't just ready 'nough to fly then." Michael craned his face towards the bird, who chewed tenderly at a white colored morsel. A yellow crest peeked out from atop the birds head as Michael's fingers prodded near her face, and she nipped at them lightly, tongue flicking out. "We've been as close as rain ev'r since, ain't that right, love?" He pet at the bird, and chuckled when she accepted the affection by rubbing her head into the side of his long nose.

"No…I mean, what kind of idiot brings a bird to a place like this?"

Immediately Curtis thought he'd regret those choice of words, he barely knew the other, but Micheal had been the only one kind to him so far. Yet he only laughed at the statement, the bird on his shoulder squeaking as his shoulders moved up and down with the motion.

"Ah." Micheal sighed. "Thas what everyone says. But don' worry none, ye seen for yerself, Tapi's a tough lil shiela. She knows how to handle 'erself. Don't ye now, Love?" At this the bird picked up her wings, tossing her head to the side to run her beak through some of the feathers upon her wings.

Curtis stared for maybe a moment longer, then, with chuckle, he shook his head. "Well, I guess so long as she doesn't crap all over my stuff…"

"Mate!" Micheal waggled a finger. "Tapi is a very clean girl! Don't insult her like that."

"Oh, I just meant that…"

"Naw, I'm joking with ye, Curtie. Don' take me too seriously, ye'll learn that quick enough."

"I…I suppose I will." Curtis eased a smile, his fingertips tapping together as he examined the rest of the room.

Nothing lined the walls, save for a calender with kittens, and a rather nasty hole that looked hastily repaired, chips of paint and plaster still falling from it. The only desk inside was covered with photographs and a lamp, the chair itself was pulled out and a rifle laid resting in it's arms.

When Curtis's eyes fell on it, and he stared a bit too long, Micheal rose a brow.

"N'er seen one o' these b'fore, eh?"

"Well uh…" Curtis felt his face flush again. "Well yes, I have. Just uh…not this kind'a model, I suppose. I'm just wonderin' why you have it, is all."

At that, Micheal blinked. "Oh, I suppose no one told ye yet? I'm one o' the Sniper class. We use these in battle."

"No…I was told that just uh… wonderin' what you do here."

"Snipe, o'course." Micheal smiled, but it disappeared once Curtis's face fell. "Oh…ye, didn' know 'bout the war?"

"No…I did, I'm not stupid. …or maybe I am." Curtis sighed, he leaned into the closest wall to him as if to support his standing. "My wife was right, I shouldn't have taken this damn job. I shouldn't have believed that I was just needed for repair work…should've known better."

It was quiet for awhile then, save for the slight chirping coming off of Tapi as she moved from one of Micheal's shoulders to the next. He looked to Curtis frowning, a sad, off beat look that didn't mix well with his usually cheerful features. With a low hum, he fingered his chin, and softly spoke:

"This eh…wife o' yours. She's smart huh?"

Curtis nodded into the wall, his eyes still closed. Micheal tried again.

"Good lookin' too, I imagine."

"Beautiful." Curtis looked to the man now, wondering just what he was up to. But Micheal only grinned.

"'N ye love 'er, don't ye?"

"With all my heart…"

"Well then!" Micheal straightened up, Tapi calling out indigently at being moved so suddenly. But the taller man moved forward to Curtis anyways, and swung a long, lanky arm about his shoulders, pulling him from the wall and to his own body. "I can tell ye, Curtie, quite fondly in fact, that yer brain is secure. Ye are not, in fact, stupid nor are ye dumb. Even by this much." Micheal squished his fingers together before Curtis's face, a small space between the two showing. Curtis blinked, dumbfounded as Micheal patted him with that hand upon the forehead. "Yer jes misinformed is all. I s'pose some people might call that stupid but, me, it's jes what it is: misinformed. Aren't ye lucky?"

When he squeezed Curtis's shoulder again, almost hugging the man to his frame, smiling all the while down at him, Curtis could only stare ahead and blink, still bewildered by all of this.

"What the hell does this…" He muttered. "What the hell does this have to do at all with my wife?"

"Women are probably the smartest species I know." Micheal began. "Most o' 'em anyways. Some o' 'em. Ehhhh." He waved his free hand from side to side. "Well, thas' jes how it is for all creatures o' the wild, I suppose. …not sayin' yer wife is some kind 'o animal at all…" He quickly interjected this, just as Curtis was turning towards him. "…unless she is for ye in bed, in which case, congratulations, Mate. Uh…" Micheal trailed off again, his expression turning sheepish. "This is gettin' awkward now isn't it?"

"…yes."

"Ah…well sorry 'bout that. I'm horrible at this cheerin' up thing." Micheal sighed, his arm dropping from around Curtis's shoulders. "But what I mean is, if yer girl is smart like ye say she is. And I believe ye, then she must o' had some faith in ye when she saw ye off 'ere. Have some o' that faith in 'er judgement too, ye'll do fine." Micheal reached over to place his hand once more on Curtis's shoulder, only to stop himself and place his hand back upon his own waist as Curtis stood there, eyes glazed over as if he were deep in thought.

Micheal took a deep breath, air hissing as his nostrils flared. "Well then!" He announced to break the silence. "In the meantime, we best get yer things in order. Yer gonna be sharin' a room with me, might as well get ye good n' comfy then, right?"

"Oh…" Curtis stopped, looked to his bags and then at the bunk beds with the bird cage still on the bottom bunk. "Yeah, I think that'd be good."

"Righto." Micheal leaned down and picked up a box of what looked like spare gun parts. "I'll start movin' my stuff 'round an' we'll come up with some sort o' arrangement as we go, sound aces?"

"Sure thing." Curtis moved over to the bunk bed, glancing back towards Micheal who set his box down on the other side of the room before moving back over to grab at the cage. He pulled it out and moved it as well. Tapi hissed at him as she stood upon it, as if furious to have her cage removed from the spot.

"I'll clean the sheets for ye," Micheal said with a hurry, already pulling them off. "Ye can jes put yer things in the closet space." He motioned at a smaller door Curtis had overlooked, facing the foot of the bunk beds. "Don' worry 'bout my things in there none, jes shove 'em as ye see fit. We'll get 'em all to fit somehow."

"Sounds good…" Curtis trailed off as he turned to Micheal, who was muttering something about taking the laundry down so long as he was taking the sheets with him. The man busied himself with stuffing a small basket full of clothes from the closet and floor. "Uh. Micheal?"

"Yeah, Mate?" He didn't look up from what he was doing.

"Thanks. …again."

At that Micheal did look up, taking the basket with him and chuckling. "No worries." He headed for the door. "Jes think fondly of how much an animal yer wife is in bed, that might take yer mind offa things."

Curtis snorted, shaking his head as the other left him alone to his own devices. He looked towards the bird, who stared back at him, head cocked to the side.

With a sigh, he opened his bag and went to unpacking.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R please!<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Title: None Were Angels, Chapter 5  
>Genre: Family, General<br>Characters: Curtis, Micheal, Dell Cohagner, other Engineer pops, Roxanne and Robbie  
>Pairings: None (Hint at CurtisRoxanne)  
>Summary: Curtis begins his training, and Roxanne gets a letter. I can't help but feel this one is more of a filler chapter, but it's essential, I suppose. Hopefully not too boring anyways. And again, I feel the ending has more or less complete reliance on conversation and was outright weak.<br>Psh.  
>Again, all chapters are still unedited for the most part and will remain that way until I get the bulk of them done and I have the time.<p>

Disclaimers: I don't own TF2 stuff, that belongs to Valve. IB

* * *

><p>2Fort, 1970<p>

The loud wail of a siren woke Curtis on his very first morning of training. Outside a strangely familiar voice screamed over the siren, and was followed by a series of loudly retorting cries:

"SOLDIERS MARCH! MARCH YOU BUNCH OF PANSIES!" At the sound of his voice, just outside the fort, a hum of synchronized feet moved forward. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU, YOU NO GOOD SONS A' BITCHES! YOU BETTER SHOW ME YOU'RE UP OR I'M MAKING YOU ALL TAKE A SWIM IN THE SEWERS TO GET YOUR NO GOOD LAZY ASSES UP!"

"SIR YES SIR!" There was a pause, and then at once, those same voices began to chant:

"I don't know but I've been told! That Medic class is getting old! They can't fight and look like fools! And Spy class is useless too!"

They passed by just close enough to the window pane beside Curtis's bed that he could see the silhouettes of helmeted heads against the white curtain, growing fainter as they marched on past. With a groan, Curtis's eyes roamed to the red numbers on the alarm clock he'd set up: three o'clock blinked back at him.

"What the devil…" He whispered, only to turn as the door quietly creaked open. Michael appeared into the still dark room, tip toeing as he walked in, and pressing a finger to his lip to shush Tapi, who was now beginning to shake the bars on her cage with her beak.

"Hush yer chatterbox, Sheila." The Sniper hissed beneath his breath. The rattling ceased, but the bird squawked back in retort. "Ye'll wake up Curtie." It was then Curtis grunted, and Michael's head snapped up to see him looking over from across the room. "Oh! Yer awake." He whispered again. "Mornin' then. Looks like the bell wakin' ye up won' be a problem."

"What…?"

"I had a roomie one time," Michael babbled on, as he moved over to the side of the door where he flicked a switch. Instantly the room filled with light and Curtis recoiled back, covering the upper part of his face with his arm. "Could sleep like a rock, that bloke could! Always was late gettin' up by the bell too, and always complain' 'bout how he'd get in trouble…"

"Michael."

"Yes, Mate?"

"Turn that damn light off…"

"Oh! Sure thing. Sorry 'bout that." Darkness once again filled the room, but Michael's shifting and quiet whispers to Tapi kept Curtis from any attempts at falling back asleep. With a sigh, he rose up and reached to grab his hand, which he had laid beside his clock before falling asleep the night prior. There was the sound of parts jumbling together as he squeezed it in place, and finally with a click, it stuck true. Curtis was just finishing strapping it in when he looked up to see Michael staring quietly at it.

"Ah…"

"Made that ye'self?" The man asked. Curtis looked down at it, the metal still managing to give a pale glimmer even in the midst of dawn's fair light just peeking from beyond the curtain veil. The fingers moved as he clenched the fist, and this seemed to catch Michael's interest all the more.

"Well, s'no wonder ye were asked t' come 'ere, Mate." He said. "Makin' things like that... ye got talent. Thas fer sure."

Curtis wondered if it was really a compliment at all. For so long he'd hidden it well enough, not really understanding himself why, but always under some underlying notion that it shouldn't be seen by anyone he could not trust entirely. The hand itself was supposedly some mechanical marvel, that he could half understand, having made it. But another, stronger part of him, warned him against letting it be public knowledge. That it could be used against him. He supposed letting Doug know was a mistake in itself, being very sure that he had told someone here and soon enough they had sent someone for him.

Or perhaps it could be something good. Only time could tell.

"Ye better hurry 'n dress if ye want t' get some grub, Curtie. The Heavies that run the cafeteria close at five 'n won't re-open 'till the arvo."

"That's two hours away…" Curtis rubbed at his face.

"'N trainin' starts at four if yer a newbie." Michael continued, and he half chuckled as Curtis sprung from the bed in an instant, already making for the closet. As the other dressed, Michael fed his bird; Tapi thanking him with innocent little pecks at his knuckles while he did so. Once Curtis was ready as he could be: tucking in the ends of his shirt into his pants and sporting a good case of bed hair, Michael closed the cage and motioned towards the door: "I can take ye to the cafeteria," He said. "…n' then ye can find the other Engineers n' follow them t' yer first day o' trainin'. Yer head should be there…jes keep yer eye on 'im. Thas me advice."

Curtis didn't look but was nodding as he finished clipping his belt about his waist. He finished it with his glove before he finally looked up at Michael. "Well uh, lead the way then, partner."

The hallways were certainly quieter leaving this hour than they had been coming in yesterday. There were the sounds of grumbling and people rising. On occasion, another person left fully dressed just as they were passing by his door. Michael greeted a couple of them, to which only one replied with a hearty: "Fuck off, Hovell," and went on his way. Curtis grimaced behind Michael, who seemed undeterred by the reaction as he led the way through towards the end of the dorms.

"Lower floors are where we is, thas' mostly fer the Scout, Soldier, Sniper n' Engineer classes." He made a motion towards a pair of heavy set doors as they had passed by. "The Medic and Heavy class are o'er there. Don' know particularly why they're always together actually… N' upper floors is the Spy class. They're given a whole floor t' themselves, somethin' bout bein' all secretive n' all that."

"…There are Spies here?" Curtis raised an eyebrow. "What in tarnation do they do?"

"Decodin', infiltratin'…lots o' backstabbin' if they're not on yer side…" Michael stopped counting off of his fingers to reach and rub at the back of his own neck, a pained expression across his features. "They train separately from other classes, 'n from what I know, not jes anyone can join their ranks. Different from the other classes, y' know? More specialized 'r somethin'."

It was then someone ran up from behind them, shoving both men to the side as he made his way through the halls. "Get movin' lard asses!" He shouted without looking back, and disappeared without a trace.

"N' that one…is a fair dinkum Scout class." Michael gestured after. He shook his head and smiled at the look on Curtis's face. "Most o' em are young, so none o' 'em seem t' know how to be polite jes' yet."

"I can tell…" Curtis frowned, and thought back to last night and all the jeers of fresh meat or something or the other. He laid his good hand upon his head and only then felt how ratty his hair really was, and began to smoothen it out. "'And what're the other classes for anyways?"

"Medics are all doctors…nurses... basically the blokes who'll keep us all alive." Michael explained. "Also run some pesky medical exams once n' awhile, so yer gonna be real close to a few o' em whether ye like it or not." He chuckled at his own joke, before he motioned towards a window, where outside, one of the helmeted men marching around could be seen. He wiped his brow once his face, darkened from marching earlier, could be seen. He replaced the head piece and returned to whatever it was he had been doing. Curtis could only assume, jokingly of course, it was to do some more marching and ranting.

"Those'd be Soldier classes." Michael said, breaking Curtis of his thoughts. "Ex military men, most o' em never could leave the battlefield, so they were sought out n' signed up without a care…" A look akin to sadness crossed his face. "'S'pose with Vietnam, we're gon' be seein' a lot more o' these in the next few years…"

"Now a Heavy, as I've been tellin' ye, is almost always a huge kind o' bloke." Michael stretched his arms out wide, his cheeks puffing out as he said this. He waved his arms in gesture. "I 'ave no idea where they get so many o' these fellas, they're like giants, some o' em. Anyways, they're the only ones who can carry the really heavy artillery n' they're the only ones who can use 'em. Guess thas why they call 'em Heavies. Other thing t' note, they make good grub, thas fer sure. …Specially sandwiches."

"Pyros, ah, I din't tell ye 'bout those now did I? Ah, they live in the lowest level, basement level. Got lots o' hot weaponry 'n gotta keep it in a safe location n' all. Anyways, if ye see a bloke runnin' 'round in a gas mask, that'd be a pyro. Ye'll find out what they're for soon 'nough, I suppose."

The name itself was enough to set Curtis's mind at unease, more so even, than the Snipers had. He licked his lip in thought as he looked towards Michael. "And…uh." He began. "Just what do Engineers do here? …Factory work?" He could not mask the slight hint of hope in his voice at that.

Michael gave the other a sad smile before they turned yet another corner and Curtis found himself at what had to be a cafeteria. Lines of tables were filled this way and that, almost all of them were full with men in matching uniform, a different sort of chatty buzz above them all as they ate. Curtis recognized the Engineers instantly at a table near the closest window, where almost all of them wore a helmet of bright yellow atop their head. Dell was easy to recognize, sitting in the middle of it all, calmly lighting a cigarette with a plate of half eaten eggs before him. He said something to a man beside him, and the entire table suddenly up roared into hearty laughter.

It was the laughter that made Curtis only more nervous, as he turned back to find Michael already moving towards a line, which stood before a kitchen window way, where behind, several Heavies seemed to be working at fixing food. Their bulging forms were exactly as Michael had described and more, almost all of them were tall and round enough to squeeze only six in all in what appeared to be a spacious kitchen. The table where other Heavies sat, Curtis could note, was the largest of them all, and still they seemed squeezed to fit everyone.

The two joined the line, where Michael finally chose to answer Curtis's earlier question.

"I think yer Head will explain that much better than me, Mate."

Curtis didn't argue, only half nodded as he stared out at the other classes, each of them so very different, and so many of them. The amount of bodies and faces alarmed him.

Just how many people had been strung into something like this?

When they'd finally come to the head of the line, Curtis imitated Michael and grabbed a tray before coming to the front. Before him were several containers of food, behind the containers was one of those robust men he had noticed earlier; the first wearing a hair net over a balding head. He glowered down at the two, with only Michael being able to face him. It was times like these Curtis wished he were taller, or short enough not to be noticed.

"G'day! Smells right good n' 'ere!" Michael sing-songed. The man before them did not look amused.

"Do you want eggs 'r not?" He huffed, his fat, red face billowing as he spoke. Curtis shrunk back when those beady eyes looked to him as well. He nodded quickly, and a spoonful of yellow eggs were smashed onto his tray.

Michael hummed. "What kinds ye got, Boyo?"

"The kinds you eat." The taller male laughed, as if it were some kind of joke. The other, not so much, fixated upon Michael with a glare. "Are you going to take it or not, Hovell?" He growled out lowly. "Your face is always the most annoying to see in the morning."

"Yes yes, can I have chocolate milk too?"

A brown carton was tossed at him from another man behind, Michael caught it with aplomb, all smiles as he set it down next to the small mountain of eggs now placed onto his tray. As they moved down, he motioned towards other foods set out for them, and Curtis, being struck what he'd call 'shitless' by these behemoths and their huge sizes, mimicked him. Soon enough he had a stack of food upon his plate, and a carton of chocolate milk like he'd drank back in middle school, and was heading towards that sea of bright yellow he'd spotted earlier. There was an open seat near the end of the table, and he quietly took it without a word.

He'd half expected Michael to slip into the seat in front of him, but there was no cheerful roommate to be heard. Curtis turned around to see the other making his way towards another group of men, half way across the room. Michael looked up and caught his eye, and with a smile, waved from where he sat.

"Made a new friend already, Howe?"

Dell's eyes were on him again. He was nursing the blunt end of a cigarette, and pushed it into his plate just as Curtis nodded in reply.

"I'm gonna give ya'll a tip, Boys. 2Forts a bit different since I came here…" The old Engineer's eyes glazed over as he looked out towards all the tables, each of them separated out by class.

"Don't mix up with someone who doesn't do the same work as you. In fact…if you can, try not to get friendly with anyone. Just makes it easier to get through it."

There were grumbles of agreement from those Curtis couldn't recognize surrounding Dell. The newer ones, much like himself, only half nodded, still unsure of what was going on. He felt himself lick his lower lip, hand gripping about the handle of his fork as he speared an egg. He shoved it into his mouth, and he had to agree: Micheal was right, the Heavies knew how to cook.

* * *

><p>The first thing Dell ever showed his new recruits was the sentry machine gun. It was as the name implied: a weapon. But it was a heavy caliber weapon, built and designed by himself, based upon his grandfather's blueprints. He'd been younger when he'd gotten the initial idea, and just hired by the owner of Blu, a shrew old man, withering away with time and age. He'd asked Dell to do some crazy things, invent some deadly stuff, but the sentry gun was Dell's pride and joy, even overcoming the miraculous science of teleportation he'd managed to perfect.<p>

It was initially an idea he accredited to his previous battles. After watching a Heavy he used to work with take a daring move and go from defensive position to offensive, their team Medic behind him and healing him all the way there, the idea had sprung into his head.

Using the sentry as the artillery, he'd be able to fix it along the way, and set up what he called a dispenser beside himself. The medic, he likened it to.

But unlike their human, organic counterparts, each of these had improvements built upon them. The sentry was always right on the mark, and could identify a red before the lumbering human equivilant could see them. The dispenser could give more than just healing; it was able to give equipment as well: parts and bullets, essential for times of battle.

Of course the sentry was not without it's flaws and Dell knew that very well. That was why it was always the first to be shown, and those flaws were always the first taught to any new Engineer. They needed to build this machine, and they needed to build it fast.

"It can be the only thing between you and death, sometimes." He said to these new recruits, who stared at the small version of the very machine he had been trying to explain to them for the past twenty or so minutes.

It beeped every now and again, a small red light flashing as the camera took in all of the faces before it. Every now and again a few of them would cringe back when the cylinder of the gun nozzle pointed towards them, despite Dell's assurance earlier that he had emptied it of any ammunition earlier. The small stand kept it upright and allowed the round head to move back and forth, circling around in a little more than 90 degree angle.

"A good defense, but not good enough when ya got even a weak Medic with a good hiding spot and decent aim." Dell explained. "But when we apply some more…"And with that, he pulled from his tool box a large wrench he had used earlier to build the initial machine, along with some spare parts. There was the loud clanging of metal hitting metal, before at last the small machine stood larger, a proud set of where extra bullets would feed into the main compartment at any time, as Dell explained, on it's sides. Building on it again, it grew another foot, and this time towered over all the men as they stared up at it from it's table-top placement. From the top of the machine, a smaller box appeared, and this was where, Dell said, he had installed missile deployment.

"What the hell kind of thing is this…" One recruit spoke up, and Curtis could not help but agree from his place beside the man.

"It's an almost perfect kind of defense." Dell explained, before he put up another machine, this one square, and large enough to come up to his breast bone. "With this, it can be even more perfected. This, boys, is a dispenser. It will be your own personal Medic on the field."

"I will be teaching you not just how to build these, but how to disassemble them, and reassemble them in under a minute. You will learn quickly enough just what it means to be an Engineer, so long as you have these tools at your disposal."

They were set out at tables, which Dell must have cleaned the two days prior when Curtis and his fellow recruits had been getting used to the place. As much as one could, anyways. Curtis himself had felt it safer to become acquainted with the insides of his room, and as such, only really spoke to his roommate, and when Micheal was not there, a few soft words were said towards the bird when it squawked his way.

He remembered well his first day coming here and walking into this room. It'd been a messy place of blueprints and various metal parts sticking everywhere. Dell himself didn't appear apologetic about it to his new students, at least up front. Now that things were cleared away though, the Head Engineer seemed all business. He slapped a blueprint before each man in there, and gave them no time to look it over before giving the order:

"Ya'll are gonna build me a level one sentry today. It won't have bullets, but yer gonna have the basic know how by tonight."

There was an immediate feeling of dread, which Curtis could see when glancing over at the man sitting beside him (Ronald's was it?) and the way he stared in bewilderment at the paper before him. A beefy finger, coated with fine red hairs over the knuckles, swept across the blueprint before he spoke up.

"I have never built anything like this before. And you only showed us ONCE how you built it. ...how can you expect us to really learn how to do this?"

There were quiet murmurs of agreements, Curtis's head bobbing along with them. Dell could only chuckle.

"If you're any kind of Engineer as ya'll think ya are, you'll stop yer complainin' and think a lil' bit. You've read blue prints before, don't tell me ya haven't. An' if ya haven't, ya can git." The Head jerked his thumb towards the door without looking at them, already immersing himself in some sort of paperwork he'd filed neatly upon his own desk. There was an uncomfortable silence as each man there couldn't help but feel a stab at their own pride from the words said. More than the insult though, Curtis felt a slight sense of shame at the truth Dell had spoken: he'd read blue prints all the time in college, and when working abroad.

There were no murmurs this time, just the quiet shuffle of the thin pieces of blueprint being moved around as they were further examined by everyone. It was when Curtis and a few others looked up from their instructions and began to examing the room a bit more than Dell smiled and motioned towards the back where he kept shelves of parts and metal bits.

"Help yourselves." He said, eyes still trained on his work.

* * *

><p>Town, 1970<p>

It had been three days since Mr. Howe had left town for some weird job his wife wasn't supposed to tell him too much about, save for that it was something to do with fixing stuff, which didn't seem too awkward as he'd been doing that before anyways, and Robbie had come to visit Roxanne again.

He probably did it because the kind woman fed him breakfast, but he liked to think it was a good deed to keep her company: lately her eyes had looked tired and her face worn; a look very similar to all the wives of the soldiers out in Vietnam, Robbie noted. But that morning he made sure to get to the Howe ranch especially early despite the humidity. And when he arrived there covered in a sheet of sweat so sticky his shirt clung to his body, Mrs. Howe immediately scolded him.

"Don't you dare do something like that again Robbie!" She said, even as he was brought inside and was forced to drink a glass of water. Which he eagerly accepted of course, and gulped it down in record time before he almost slapped it down on the table and grinned up at Roxanne. She did not share the look however, and simply crossed her arms before her breast at him, mouth set in a frown.

"After what happened to poor Mr. Belkin, I would think you'd have more sense than to over exert yourself like this..."

"Aw shucks Mrs. Howe, I did it for you!" Before she could say another word the boy reached into his pack enthusiastically, fingers scrabbling for the last parcel he'd been carrying before pulling out a thin envelope. Upon showing her it Roxanne's face immediately brightened exactly as he'd pictured it, and the boy watched with a bemused expression as the woman tore it open to pull a letter out.

For awhile she stared at it, her face torn between joy and sorrow, and he was sure by the end of it she would be near tears. But Roxanne only sniffed quickly and bit back whatever she had been showing, before smiling over at Robbie.

"You're such a sweet boy, Robbie. You ran all this way to bring me this letter?"

"Well sure." He grinned at Roxanne as she seemed to be looking over it again, eyes peering for anything she could have missed. "You've been lonely, Mrs. Howe. ...and everyone likes gettin' letters from loved ones. Heck, even I like gettin' them from my Grandma on my birthday. Cheers me right up when she sends a card." Roxanne couldn't help but chuckle as Robbie continued about how he'd get ones with pictures of his Uncle's goats inside the card when he was a kid, and how he missed those. He'd probably not end his talk either, if she hadn't quieted him with a question about breakfast.

"If you're offerin' I'm takin'!" Was Robbie's ever enthusiastic reply. And he bounced slightly in his seat as Roxanne moved to the counter to look for anything to feed the both of them.

Robbie smiled as the smells and sounds of bacon cooking on the stove lulled him to relax against the table top, chin in his hands. Doing good deeds for people sure paid off.

* * *

><p>By the time evening had rolled around and Roxanne felt tired enough to crawl into bed; her very large bed now that there was no Curtis to be curled up beside her, usually in the throes of attempting to take off his hand by this time; she had read the letter from Curtis a good number of times.<p>

It was a generic letter at first glance to anyone reading it. Curtis spoke about the place being far too large, and with too many people in it. He wasn't allowed to say too much, but the work hadn't begun just yet, but they'd be getting paid at the end of the week all the same, so Roxanne should expect a check coming by Monday at the latest.

It was when Curtis mentioned his roommate that Roxanne felt almost elated. He was apparently a funny man, who talked a lot and ate too much pudding than Curtis believed was good for him. But he was kind, and Curtis said he liked him enough even if he did talk too much. Roxanne felt a surge of peace at this; Curtis wasn't alone, not entirely. Her initial fears of her shy and quiet husband being overpowered by those brutes she had caught glimpses of at the train station were softened for a bit, and leaning back into the pillows of their bed, Roxanne pulled out her own pad and pen and began to write back. She'd need Robbie to take this with him to the post office in the morning so it'd be to Curtis before the weekend.

* * *

><p>2 Fort, 1970<p>

Good enough.

Curtis could still picture Dell's face in his mind, even hours after the incident, as the Head had inspected the sentry Curtis had finally managed to scrounge up. From all angles and glances, it seemed an almost exact replica of the one Dell had built for them earlier on in the day. Even his table partner had complimented Curtis on it as he was still in the midst of constructing a stand from scrap metal heavy enough to hold the base upright. Dell, however, seemed to be less than impressed as he passed by and took to examining it.

Curtis watched him, beside himself with nervousness as he had seen Dell looking at Clyde and Lemins' sentries before. He'd told them they'd succeeded and dismissed them for the day before moving to the table nearby to point out something someone was doing wrong. It was probably the anxiety at having his first inspection, but to Curtis, Dell seemed to be taking his sweet time as he made a small hum in the back of his throat, actually pressing an eye closer to the nozzle of the gun point to get a clearer view. His face pinched deeper between his brows, making the crows feet at the edges of the older man's eyes deepen into grooves of shadow all along his features.

It was when he pressed down on the sentry a bit and they heard a small crack from the stand that Dell nodded.

"Good enough." He huffed, and gave Curtis a small wave towards the door. The younger Engineer stood there bewildered for a good moment, and looked down towards his little creation to see it had stopped moving all together, a small crack in the leg being the cause of it. When his table partner had nudged him, Curtis softly apologized and gathered his bags before taking off without looking back except once. He saw Dell watching him leave in such a hurry, shaking his head softly before returning to whatever it is he'd been doing. That motion in itself settled upon Curtis's stomach more than the words had.

If it'd been good enough, why had it cracked? Sure, it'd been his first try, and he just hadn't used a strong enough metal for the bottom half. But wouldn't Dell want him to stay and fix this until the sentry was perfected? Curtis felt another sense of dread settle inside of him as he silently concluded he should have stayed behind and fixed it on his own time. That probably had been what Dell expected of them, and none of the recruits who were told to go had done that. Curtis quietly cursed himself again, pressing his palms to his face and inhaling the smell of metal and oil that was deeply imbedded in them. He hadn't heard the door to his room open and close and hadn't looked up until something warm pressed into the back of his hands.

"What the-"

"Surprise!" Micheal laughed, and pushed what looked to be a donut into Curtis's hand. "Went to town today, picked meself up some. Got ye one too, ye said ye like coconut right?"

"Yeah..." Curtis wondered when he'd mentioned that. Hell, he wondered how Micheal had remembered that. But he didn't ask as he watched with a gross fascination as the man took a seat on the only chair in their room, a sugared donut in one hand, and an open pudding pack in the other. Micheal took care to dip the smallest end of the roll into his cup, coating it with plenty of the chocolate goop, before biting into it and repeating the process. When he caught Curtis looking at him, he grinned, teeth covered in a dark brown.

"Wanna try?"

"...no thanks." Curtis bit into his own, and tasted chocolate frosting and coconut bits all over the top. His thoughts slowly drifted back to earlier that day, only to be brought back out when Micheal snapped his fingers before him. He jerked his head up, smearing a good portion of frosting down his chin as he looked to Micheal.

The other only gave an apologetic smile, though he couldn't hide the soft snort from Curtis's little mishap. "I asked how yer first day o' trainin' went, Mate."

"Oh." Curtis reached and wiped his face, popping his chocolate covered thumb into his mouth. "...I think it went well."

"Ye think?" Micheal bit into his sweet, swallowed again. "Ye don't know how ye did?"

"Well I don't know." Curtis frowned. "I just... I think I could've done better, probably."

"Eh. Who can't?" Curtis had to nod at this.

"We all do bad our first days, Curtie. Don't worry so much over it." Micheal waved his hand. "Ye know how my job is te shoot?" He made a gesture with his fingers, his thumb and forefinger motioning like a small gun beside his face as Micheal aimed towards the window, his lips turning into an 'o' shape as he made an inaudible 'boom' to emphasize the gunshot. Curtis gulped, still unsure of what the man's position really called for, but nodded all the same.

"Well, me first time I handled a gun back in Oz, I'd been with me Uncles Steve n' Seth." At the memory Micheal's face uplifted, and he leaned back into the seat and stared up towards the ceiling. "They'd been teaching me with a small pistol, barely the size o' me arm... I took that thing, and shot it 'fore they even gave me the signal. And next thing we knew, we were drivin' Uncle Seth to the hospital to 'ave a bullet removed from 'is thigh."

Curtis stared for a moment, as Micheal was almost chuckling fondly at the memory, his eyes looking back down to Curtis from where he sat.

"After that Uncle Seth was always coverin' 'is ass when they took me out huntin'." At that, Curtis snorted, and joined Micheal's laughter with his own.

"Was this before or after you got here?"

"Ah, that was back when I was a lil scamp." Micheal waved his hand. "But when I got here, 'n even after all the damn trainin' I got back 'ome with me uncles, I still managed to shoot some poor fella in me class by accident. Oh he was pissed he was, 'n our Head gave me a good gobful for what I did..." Micheal's eye gave a glint as his smile only grew. "Want to know the best part though?"

"There's a good part?"

"Yeah, the irony of it all. ...the bloke I shot me first day was also named Seth." Micheal waited for it to sink in, before joining Curtis's laughter again with his own. After a good minute or so of it, Micheal wiped at his eye, and added, shoulders rising and falling with laughter yet: "He...he didn't think it was so funny when I told 'im 'bout it though, I tell ye what!"

Curtis guffawed. "Well 'course he wouldn't. When you'd tell him that? When they were picking the bullet out of his thigh?"

"No. His arse. Medic made him drop his drawers right in front o' everyone so he could remove the bullet right away. Called him Moony for awhile. ...didn't take to that either."

* * *

><p>R&amp;R please~<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

Title: None Were Angels, Chapter 6

Genre: Family, General

Characters: Curtis, Micheal, Dell Conagher, Lemins and other recruits, Conrad Sir and various other Soldiers

Pairings: None (Hint at Curtis/Roxanne)

Summary: More training for Curtis. My biggest goal here should be pretty obvious: I don't want Curtis to be the successful son of a bitch who gets ahead quickly. He's not the type who should be a mercenary, as if that wasn't obvious enough, and it's going to be rough on him. Slowly and surely he's beginning to realize just what it's going to take to be here. And Dell is there to lay it down where he can.

Originally the last bit was going to be for later, but it felt right when writing it, so there it is.

Also, kind of an idea of how things are set up for training with new recruits. BIG THANKS to my friend Arielle, who served in the airforce once upon a time and continues to be a huge support when it comes to me asking her for advice on anything military esque about this fic. Thankyoubb~ ;u;

Again, all chapters are still unedited for the most part and will remain that way until I get the bulk of them done and I have the time.

Disclaimers: I don't own TF2 stuff, that belongs to Valve. IB

* * *

><p>2 Fort, 1970<p>

Roxanne's letter had reached him by the next Friday morning, shoved under his door along with a few addressed to Micheal.

Curtis had awoken first that day, as he had begun to do so ever since he'd set his clock an hour before four, just to avoid any mishaps like the morning of his first day of training. It was an odd change to his sleeping pattern and he woke up groggier every day, but it seemed his body would adapt quickly enough to it and so he continued to set his alarm to ring at three every night. And, so long as the coffee in the mess hall was never in short supply, he'd become alert enough later in the day.

And as he was tired that Friday morning, he hadn't noticed the small bundle of envelopes stashed under his doorway until he was at the door with his hand on the doorknob, sleep covered eyes still closed as he heard an unfamiliar crunch beneath the tips of his feet. Only then did he open his eyes, and look down to see some odd shapes sticking this way and that beneath him.

He didn't want to wake up Micheal, who didn't need to be up for another hour, so he simply opened the door and walked out into the lit hallway to get a look at what these mysterious things were. He was pleasantly surprised to find that they were envelopes, and after finding four for his roommate, there was one with his own name scrawled across the top in the same looping kind of handwriting he'd recognized of his wife.

His heart in his throat, Curtis couldn't help the sensation of butterflies rising up in his belly as he turned the envelope in his hand, Micheal's letters tucked safely beneath his other arm, and stopped at once at what he'd seen.

The envelope had been tampered with. There was a neat slice up at top, of which someone had simply taped back together without so much as an attempt to hide the obvious tinkering. Looking to Micheal's, Curtis could see each of his had been toyed with as well, and he clenched his jaw tight at this, quickly turning the knob near his hand and yanking the door open as he marched right back into his room to wake up the Sniper.

The moment the lights went on, Micheal groaned into his pillow and didn't make much more of an effort to move besides pulling a blanket over his face and head. Curtis walked forward and pushed at the hand that dangled from the side of the bed with the envelopes, which Micheal batted back at with a gruff: "S'nough o' that, Mate."

"I think you got some letters from home, Micheal." Curtis said. "One says it's from a Seth Johnson."

At the name, Micheal's head poked out from the blankets, the usually trim hair he kept slicked back was now at all angles, to which he simply wiped a hand through and held out another for the letters. When he got them, the man twisted himself back into the bed, nestling in comfortably and chuckling as he saw there was indeed a letter from a man named Seth, and set to opening that one first.

Curtis saw the way Micheal simply snapped open the piece of tape holding their tampered letters with, and swallowed back a scowl.

"Do...our letters always come in like this?"

"Huh?" Micheal turned his head to look at Curtis, and frowned at the apparent discomfort written all over his roommate's face. "Ah. Yeah, yeah they do. It's in our contract... BLU administration holds all rights to investigate into anythin' that comes in and outta the forts. That includes stuff from our families."

"Well that ain't right." Curtis half grumbled, before he slowly set himself into the only chair. Behind him, Tapi had awoke and had begun to rattle away at the bars of her cage.

Micheal could only return a wry smile from behind his letter. "Gotta agree with ye there, Mate. But one thing ye'll learn soon 'nough about our ole bossies. ...they sure don't trust us as much as they enjoy throwin' us out into th' heat o' things." He waved his other envelopes up in example, the tape shining beneath the fluorescent glow of their light. "This'd be jes one o' many things they do."

With a sigh, Curtis resigned himself to this. It would take nothing less than confronting administration himself to get to the bottom of it, to which he knew he'd want nothing to do with. And it wasn't unsound to believe that someone else had complained before him, without much change done to it at all. But most of all the idea that his wife's letter was in his hands was more than enough to distract him from the annoyance of his discovery, and he opened it with much gusto to unfold her parchment paper, all neat and tucked away inside by whoever had plucked it earlier and read it before him.

The letter spoke of how she missed him first and foremost, and to that he couldn't help but give a sad little smile at. She complained of not having much to do without him around, and no one to keep her company save for the paper boy who made sure to visit after every round he made with his deliveries.

Apple was doing well, and Harper was as nosy as ever. Mrs. Peasley's nephew had managed a visit a week ago, and was paraded all around town much like a trophy on display, his proud old aunt beaming all the while. Curtis chuckled at the thought, his mind immediately remembering the hobbling old woman and her cane, to the pair of girls his wife often spent her time around.

He could visualize Roxanne among them, joking as she would help Apple stock her shelves. She'd tuck her hair behind her ears as she always did on habit, and look over her shoulder to anyone coming inside; be it neighbors or a new passerby just happening by the town. Either way, he knew his Roxanne would greet them before turning back to her job and busy herself with this and that all over again.

And yet he could also see his wife at home, all alone, and sitting by herself on the porch swing as she stared out towards the mailbox and that apple tree. The wind would barely pick up the scent of apples and she'd be wearing a blanket from their bed, because it smelled of him, draped about her shoulders. Those were the images that made his stomach ebb into the tides of imagination, and the Engineer had to steer his vision away from his letter for a moment to see Micheal grinning and chuckling away at the papers in his own fingers.

"...Ah, good news I take it?" Micheal peered over to him at the question, and snorted.

"Somethin' like that." He said. "Guess they got a new hand for the ole' place, n' ole Uncle Seth's trainin' 'im. Says the blighter can't milk a cow let alone steer one."

Curtis gave a chuckle, for he knew just how that felt. Many a times growing up he'd felt the vengeance of a cow upon him for handling her teat in any wrong way. His eyes moved themselves back to the letter, where Roxanne asked him more about work, his roommate, and how he was holding up. Could she send packages? Well that he'd have to ask. And when could he call her? That he'd definitely be asking soon enough.

His fingers and eyes shifted from each piece of the papers, from word to word, letter to letter, until Curtis was sure his mind had digested enough of his wife's looping penmanship and her constant questions to his well being. The papers felt light enough in his hands, but a new weight had set itself upon his mind, and Curtis was unsure if it was a good weight to carry or not.

When he rose up from his seat, Micheal was already opening another one, from his mother he said, before he asked Curtis if he was getting set to go already.

Curtis had begun to shuffle into his daily uniform, already pulling up and clipping the overalls in place.

"Yeah." He answered the Sniper, who lounged in his top bunk still. "Yeah I...I figure I'd get a head start today so I can ask Dell some questions later on."

"Oh." Micheal said, turning himself around to watch Curtis gather his things and set to the door. "Good on ya then, Curtie. Good luck with the ole dinosaur."

Curtis gave a flinch at the nickname, but chuckled nonetheless as he closed the door behind him with a wave, and then set off to the workroom and Dell.

Upon arrival, Curtis could tell he was not the first to arrive. Besides Dell, Lemins and Issacson were at a table, bickering as per usual. Ever since they'd come to 2Fort and begun training together, Curtis was sure the two had not gone one day without something snapped in the other's direction. And yet Dell continued to pair them up in projects together, even now ignoring the rainbows of language spewing out from either mouths as he indulged himself in whatever paperwork that always seemed to linger upon his desktop.

As Curtis approached him, Dell glanced up only once.

"You still got a level one sentry to build for me, Howe." He said gruffly, shuffling another sheet to the side. "If you're askin' for help, you best ask someone else right now."

Curtis squeezed at the yellow helmet he'd been issued a few days ago. The mechanics of his prosthetic hand squeaking as he did, too tight for the components. He tried to relax it, but found it harder than he'd thought with the way Dell was now staring at him expectantly, a glazed overtone before his features. Behind him, Curtis could hear Lemins and Issacson starting to quiet down, probably watching from their seats as it were, and only helping to tighten his words deep within his throat.

"Well? What is it, Howe?" Dell asked. "You're not standing there for nothing, so spit it out."

"Ah..." Curtis finally breathed. "Ah yes, well ah...Sir. I just got some letters from home and...well..."

"Congrats, we all get letters every couple o' weeks, Howe." Curtis frowned at the snickers from behind at Dell's snide remark, but continued anyways.

"No actually, my wife was wonderin' and...I was wonderin' too...can we...can we call each other? Or can she send packages? That sort o' thing?"

Dell sighed and flipped through the short stack before his fingertips. "Shoulda read the terms of your contract more closely, Howe." His voice didn't move to hide any disappointment in it. "It clearly states for new recruits there will be no callin' until the end of your two months of trainin'. An' your wife isn't allowed to call the fort as that would be a violation of your promise to keep your work here on private terms. Only you are allowed to be callin' her first."

"Oh..." Curtis deflated.

"As for packages, they'll be checked, just like 'em letters of yours no doubt were, but she can send as many as she wants."

Curtis nodded again, looking as the door to the shop opened once more, and the other recruits filed inside. He placed his helmet upon his head and turned once more to Dell.

"Thank you, Sir." He whispered.

"Just get to work."

Soon enough the Engineering shop was filled with the sounds of work. Loud and quiet clanking of metal beating against metal, the buzz of a saw, a shout from Lemins when Issacson got too close to his finger with a hammer for his liking.

The sounds were mere background music to Curtis as he kneeled down to stare at his new tripod base. Fingering it carefully, he could feel the hard metal warming with his body heat and settled that it was indeed firm. Firm and strong, just as he wanted it. With another pinch, he nodded to himself and stood up before he looked down at the empty body, pressed his hand carefully over the top...and leaned into it.

He waited for a crack to echo out, break up the buzzing noises behind him, but nothing seemed to be happening. He stared down and finally pulled away to check again at the stand. His fingers pinched at it, and found they stood there still as they were before.

The grin that broke across Curtis' face was his only means of victory before he set to finishing up the rest of the sentry gun. The body was still missing pieces, from coils to fuses, and a fan. Oh yes, a fan would be needed right away. Just yesterday Ronalds had forgotten that key piece and everyone had watched his finished sentry go literally into flames after one hour of working. After watching Dell trash the thing once he'd finished burying it in a fire extinguisher's foam, Curtis mentally made a note to never let that happen to him.

Going over to the bin of parts where the fans would be, he saw that everyone else had thought the same. His fingers raked over a few bits and bobs again over thrice, before he blew out a bitter breath, lips flapping in annoyance.

"You done with that, Howe?" Curtis turned to see Wagner behind him, and he handed the bin to the man before moving to look at the scrap metal bin.

There was a small sheet of leftover silver metal, thin enough for the blades, Curtis thought, and he took this piece and tucked it beneath his arm. Shifting through some more, he found a fat enough screw, and with new determination, set off to work with these few bits.

Usually Dell had them all leave after eight hours or so of building for lunch break, and more often than not, they left prior to this. Today seemed no different as one by one each of the recruits left, stopping only to wave a goodbye to Dell, who hardly looked up from his own work to return the gesture. He flipped through some more paperwork, always elbow deep in it, he thought with great bitterness, and stopped when he heard the clanging of metal still ringing.

Dell looked up to find his classroom empty, but the clanging still echoed, emanating from the workshop next door where he stored all the power tools for larger jobs. He rose from his desk and peered through the only window in the room, where he could get a clear view into that very shop.

Inside he saw Howe bent over one of the work tables, cutting away at some sheets of metal and putting them together to create something he wasn't quite sure of just yet. Dell grunted, but did nothing to stop it, simply returning to his desk and flicking on the switch to a radio he kept behind his chair.

Soon enough Kitty Wells's voice rang over any sounds of tool work, and she soothed Dell enough to take off his reading glasses and place them aside for a quick break. He hummed a bit as he heard a pause in Howe's work, before the familiar clanging continued. The older man's fingers twirled his pen, and for a moment again, he wasn't elbow deep in work better suited to business men very much unlike himself, and he was again tinkering at his own mechanics while Kitty sang about angels.

So engrossed in it, he was, that Dell didn't notice Curtis come back in to gather his things and leave. It wasn't until Miss Kitty's voice had long since died down, and the sounds of silence made their solid presence known that Dell checked again to find Howe gone.

And now, he figured he'd clean up after and get to lunch himself. The older Engineer walked to the table where Howe had left his stuff and stopped short at what he'd seen.

It was a small homemade fan, carefully cut out and obviously made up from spare bits found in any of his bins where he kept the stuff. Picking it up, Dell surveyed it against the light and half smirked. His fingertip touched a blade, and he flicked it capriciously.

"Not bad." He muttered to no one at all. "Not bad at all, Howe." The Engineer stopped short and thought again of the shy man.

The fan turned on.

* * *

><p>Lunch was all the same to Curtis. As good as the food was, the company left plenty to be desired. Besides his six classmates, he knew none of the other Engineers, who were seasoned enough to no longer be dubbed "recruits" and therefore took it upon themselves to remind the newer faces just how things were done around here.<p>

"You guys finished building your first level one sentry yet?" The man across from Curtis asked him. When he didn't answer right away, the man shook his head. "I finished mine my first week, what's taking you guys so long?" More food was shoved into his mouth, bits of yellow and brown flicking across a dark beard as he chewed none too soundly.

It was Lemins who spoke up, raising his can of coke towards the veteran with a glower. "Watch your tongue there, Boyo, 'less you want it tied up when we all pass the last test 'fore you ever could."

"Ha!" There was a spray of food across Curtis's plate, and the quiet Engineer grimaced, pushing it away from him. "That I'd like to see! I was one of the best when I was first hired, and I finished it in record time, I tell you."

"Keep bragging, you tart, you'll be eating your own foot in no time..." Lemins stopped at Curtis's hand, which was raised up from the elbow, like a child back in schooling. "What is it, Boyo?"

The hand lowered, and Curtis wrenched his fingertips together. "You said...somethin' 'bout a test. ...what exactly is it?"

There was a thunderous laughter again from the man across from him, and Curtis couldn't help but look down, ashamed, at the look Lemins gave.

"You don't know about the test?" The man barked back another laugh. "Must be a pretty bad year if one of you can't even read up on your own terms of services." From his platter of meat, the man waggled a fork in Curtis's direction. "Listen here, Pup, and I'll tell you what's what. Every class has got a test at the end of your two months of training, and once you pass the test, you go out into battle for BLU. You don't pass, you don't go. It's simple as that."

"You also don't pass, and you shame yourself and your fellow recruits is what you do, Howe." Lemins warned softly before shoving a spoonful of corn past his own lips. He chewed delicately, eyes finding Curtis's and holding them for a good second more before he swallowed. "And I didn't join this team just to be brought down by any of my classmate's inabilities neither, so you better be prepared, Boyo."

Instantly Curtis's stomach sank down to his feet, and the man made to check on his wrist, no watch still to finger, and busied himself with his drink instead, eyes pinched as he drank back the milk while the other table occupants continued with their feud of words, not paying him any more mind as they would any other day. But Curtis this time was listening, and listening intently. For now all the veteran Engineers could do now was talk about this so called test in two months, and he wanted to know all he could.

"Last year he had us build level three sentries in under 25 seconds."

"Is that all? Dell had us build level three dispensers in under 15!"

"And every year I do somethin' different, what is it to ya'll?" At once all eyes were on Dell as the Head Engineer had approached the table, food tray in hand as he surveyed the men before him. When no one spoke up immediately, he simply grunted and plopped the platter before him and squeezed in on the nearest open spot. The Engineers on either side moved, respectably, to give him elbow space. As the older man leaned into the table, pushing aside corn from his meatloaf, the man Lemins had argued with spoke up:

"This new guy here said he didn't know about the test you have there, Dell." Curtis stared at the tip of the man's fat finger, and all around him, felt the eyes that most certainly moved onto him now. "What's wrong with this year anyways? They're all disrespectful and loud."

The table grew quiet for a good bit, as Curtis's glanced away from the man still gesturing at him, until finally he met the Head Engineer's pale gray eyes. They stared like that for a moment, before Dell broke the momentum, and shook his head as he pushed his fork through the meatloaf upon his platter.

"Don't know what's wrong with 'em, Charlie." He said quietly. And Curtis noticed the way his fellow recruits sank into their seats, just as he could feel his own body do so. "Then again," Dell continued, louder this time. "I asked myself that when your loud ass walked in my door too." Laughter echoed out, taunting out towards the man named Charlie; who had only joined it in, his voice booming above all the others.

But Curtis was not one to join. He simply stared down at his platter, fork prodding around before he finally gave up and stood. No one said anything or looked his way, at least until he was out of earshot he supposed, and even then the man didn't look back to check until he was long outside the cafeteria, and headed for the dorms to wait for the order to continue training for the day.

He'd hardly made it to the doorway of his room when that announcement came; demanding all new recruits to return to their place of training and continue the day's duties. Curtis cursed beneath his breath, closed the door hard enough to make a Scout down the hall double take at the short and stocky man making his way past and out the dorms once more.

Curtis found Dell and his classmates already in the workshop, the older man not even bothering to look at him as he came inside and slid into a chair just behind Issacson and Lemins, the latter of whom chanced a glance back at the shy Engineer.

"Since it's now clear to me that not everyone here took the time to be informed of everythin'..." Curtis felt a sting at those words when Dell looked straight through the two before him and fixed his eyes with Curtis's. "Let me clear a few things up that may have been misinterpreted."

"Ya'll will be trained here by me for two months, and at the end of it, I test ya'll to see if'n your ready or not to go out in the field. It's not a hard test by any stretch of the imagination, and if you're competent enough, you'll do fine." Dell paused in thought before he started once more.

"If'n on the random chance one of you does not pass, then I am obligated to hold you back and restart trainin'. Remember in your contracts, you are also obligated to be serving a certain amount of hours on the battlefield. And if'n you miss some by going back into trainin'...then you will be havin' a longer stay here at 2Fort than what you might have originally intended."

The words must have kept on everyone, for no one talked for a good while until, as expected, Lemins moved the helmet from his head, light colored hair sheening with sweat beneath the room's light.

"Well then." He spoke to everyone and no one in particular. "We best show them what we're made of, won't we, Boyo's?"

Everyone but Curtis, who sat still in all his dread, murmured their agreements. Dell only snorted and gestured. "Well we've got trainin' with Conrad an' his Soldier recruits today." He rolled his eyes at the groans. "Engineerin' ain't all about the buildin' boys. A nancy handed fella isn't gonna be much help when on the field."

Lemins gave a scoff, and Curtis was almost sure had glanced at him. "Couldn'ta said it better m'self, Teach."

"Well that's enough talkin' anyways." Dell reached and made a grab for a raincoat he kept hanging near the door of his room. "Go gear up and meet me out in the fields in ten minutes. Just warning ya, it might rain."

Early morning training consisted of the very basics that were key to each class, so everyone learned early enough. Afternoon training for those still kept off of the battlefield was a little bit of everything and then some.

Just outside the housing was an obstacle course that looked more like a pile of wood, tires and rope thrown haphazardly together with little semblance to any sort of real structure. It was supposedly used, but Curtis had yet to see anyone even dare touch the thing, let alone run on it. He kept his distance from it, and prayed to himself it never became a part of regime. Beside the course, was a track, and a shed of which little was known of besides it being used for basic storage.

The track itself was where Curtis was now with the other Engineers, and beside them, some Soldiers of whom been waiting for them for what appeared to be some time. They were all dressed up in plain clothing, t shirts and and shorts, some of them jogging pants that looked too big for them anyways. Curtis stared ahead at the track, which couldn't be longer than any high school one, about a quarter of a mile in length. But feeling the hard ground beneath his feet now, hot in the desert heat and cracking all along the sides, it could've gone on for miles.

Dell stood right in the center of the track beside the head Soldier, Conrad, who appeared just as down dressed for the occasion and ready to join them if need be. Beside the coat-wearing Head Engineer, it made for an almost comical appearance as they both held up clipboards, glancing over spreadsheets they had brought along, appearing more like track coaches than the mercenaries they were. They muttered to one another, apparently going over what they'd be doing as their recruits stood indignantly along, some beginning to toe at the ground even. Finally, Dell turned and spoke to them: "Normally we'd be doin' this in the evenin' but since we're lucky enough to have some clouds today..." He stopped to take a look at the sky. Above everyone, a good streak of gray colored the heavens with the ominous threat of rain. "I think we'll be good enough."

"Got that right." Conrad grunted before he turned to face them all. "Right, Maggots. This'll be the drill: you're to run four laps of this track. Four. Any less than that and I'm keeping you after to run four more. Got it?"

"Sir yes sir!" The Soldiers answered at once. At the sudden bellowing beside them, the Engineers all squinted, some moving to cover their ears.

"Then get started!"

They moved much like a herd at first, Curtis thought, watching each of those imposing figures rush out at once. And with Dell's gesture, soon he and his fellow recruits were joining it. It was nothing at first, they had run before and with the other classes too while it'd been much hotter. He pumped his arms and legs, much like the others beside and before him, and stared ahead at the oncoming curve before he turned it along with the surrounding wave of bodies.

One lap done and he began to feel the burn in his legs. Beside him Wagner must have been having a harder time, for he was panting harder than a race horse, Curtis reckoned. And just ahead the bobbing heads of the soldiers kept on moving in tune, their footfalls loud enough to hide the oncoming thunder that threatened just overhead.

Half way through the next, and his legs began to numb, his chest heaving as he glanced to the side at a Soldier and how high his knees moved. Curtis stared, then looked down to his own and quickly moved to imitate it. Beside him Lemins and the others must have noticed, for soon they too were moving in a similar fashion, legs rising and falling into a sort of rhythm. Curtis breathed in, and found the sandy air that beat up under their footfalls colder than it should be, cutting in at the back of his throat.

Two laps done and Curtis felt his shirt beginning to stick at his frame. He lost track of when Wagner had fallen behind, but knew the man was a good distance by now. Up ahead that very herd of Soldiers had pushed forward and were probably on their last lap by now. He didn't care, and continued to pump his limbs forward despite the sudden pain in his sides.

Three laps and one more to go, and Curtis was very much alone, with only Lemins just behind him. The Soldiers had all but finished and were running just one more to allow the Engineers time to catch up. From the corner of his eye he could see Dell and the Head Soldier talking, both of them watching the sky until a streak of bright light crashed across everyone's vision.

But as heads jerked up the Head Soldier's voice carried over the thunder:

"YOU ALL BETTER KEEP GOING! WAR DOESN'T STOP FOR ANY KIND OF WEATHER!"

With the last lap came the rain, and it was a blessing in disguise for Curtis, who was panting harder than Wagner was by that first lap. His legs were crying out now, shots of pain with every time his feet hit the hard concrete beneath them, and knees threatening to give in. But the speckling of raindrops all over his body was enough of a comfort, enough of a soothing to the itch that he pushed himself forward along with everyone else until that last footstep brought the ending to the running.

"GET OVER HERE AND START YOUR PUSH UPS! NOW!"

Another crack of lightening overhead. Curtis felt a Soldier shove through to move towards the Heads, and he, flimsy as he felt, fell to his knees where he stood. Soft, filthy mud slapped across the front of his shorts and onto the palms of his gloves as he watched, all of them in unison, begin to do just as the man had said. Beside the man, Dell gave another signal, and Curtis all but gasped as he was yanked up from where he was.

"Yer not gonna be embarrassing me in front o' these fellas, Howe." Lemins hissed hoarsely into his ear, before letting Curtis's arm go and following the others into place where they too dropped down, and began their push ups.

Curtis moved forward as if in a daze. Everything burned, but his skin was beginning to feel clammy and cold from the rain that had now started to pelt down onto all of them. Curtis felt the earth squish beneath his knees, his feet nearly give in as he moved himself into position as he completed his first row.

"One..." He grunted out. His legs sang, and he felt his knees touch the ground before he quickly straightened them out.

Beside him, Wagner slipped into the mud and had the Head Soldier at his face, screaming profanities until the older man got back up and tried once more. His broad shoulders shook as he attempted to bring his larger torso up.

"Two." Curtis heaved and felt cold mud, slick and slimy pour down the stump of his arm and into his glove. He moved to remove it and clean it quickly, but just as soon as he had stopped, the Head was soon to him, all bark and bite.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? WE NEVER TOLD ANY OF YOU TO QUIT!"

Curtis sputtered. "I...I..." He held up his gloved hand.

"YOU WHAT? YOU ARE GOING TO APOLOGIZE AND GET BACK TO DOING WHAT YOU WERE TOLD?" There was a shove, and Curtis found himself face planted into the mud, spitting out dirt from between his lip and teeth. "GOOD THINKING, RECRUIT. LET'S SEE YOU DO TWO RIGHT NOW!"

Curtis shook, his front completely soaked now in the sticky mix of wet sand and muck. The gristle in his beard dripped as he slowly pulled himself up, and moved his body into place, feet slowly sliding back with the lack of friction available.

And as he moved downwards, he could hear the creaking of his mechanical hand as some sandy bits must have gotten into it by now. But glancing up through the haze at the larger man glowering down at him now, bulging arms crossed before him as they were, Curtis's fear of him far out weighed that of his hand's state.

He moved down once more, and pulled himself up for the second one, which satisfied the Head enough to move onto his own recruits, where he began to order them to go faster. Meanwhile, Dell calmly stood where he'd been, hands at his sides and glazed eyes watching his own recruits literally pulling themselves from the mud to satisfy their crazy demands.

Lightening and thunder was joined soon enough by wind, and that only served to make the rain go harder. And soon enough it felt like the pricks of thousands of nails going against Curtis's shoulders, back, and the backs of his legs. He'd slipped again, and quickly moved to pick himself up but fell yet again.

From where his face lay, he stared at his gloved hand, uselessly flopped to the side at an askew angle. It was locked, he knew, and the programming in it had probably failed from all the mud that now lined his glove.

Issacson must have noticed it because soon enough he was crying out that Curtis's wrist had been broken. Dell moved over and took one look at the hand before shaking his head.

"Go to the Medic ward, Howe." He had to shout over the echo of the rain now.

Curtis shook his head. "It's...it's not broken sir!" He pulled at the skin of the glove. "I just need ta clean it, it doesn't do good in wet weather!"

"What the hell are you talkin' 'bout, Boy?" Dell growled until his eyes caught silver at the stump of Curtis's arm, and at once his face changed. He turned towards the other Head beside him.

"Conrad, you got this right?"

"What?" The man looked up from his recruits. "Huh? Sure. When do you want them in, Dell?"

"Send 'em in with your boys, I gotta go take this one in." He jerked his thumb towards Curtis, who was cradling his twisted hand now to his chest. Dell walked past him without a word, and silently, Curtis followed after, feeling the sting of eyes at the back of his head.

The lightening cracked across the sky in a loud echo of explosions behind them just as Dell opened the door and returned into the dorms. The two sets of boots squeaked against the linoleum floor tiles, scuffing them with plenty of dirt and tracks as they returned to the Engineering workroom, where Dell flicked on the light switch and walked inside.

Curtis shuffled after, sniffing as water droplets dripped down from his nostrils to streak down his muddy face. "Uh..." He whispered. "Um...thanks for this, Si-"

"Take your hand offn' repair it now, Howe." Dell grunted, already moving to pull off the rain coat he had been wearing outside.

Curtis stopped, but consented, peeling slowly off the glove that he wore at all times to protect his prosthetic from sight. It was in a sorry state, alright, he thought, as he moved it back and forth to see many of the coils covered in sticky sand and any bits of silver showing glistened wet and dirty.

He moved to the base and gripped tight, gave it a jerk, before there was a soft hiss and the mechanics released, his hand coming off with a click and the fingers going dead at once, falling and hitting off the metal base with resounding clinks.

Dell had watched from where he was now, soaked uniform and all, his face as always, unreadable and impassive as he watched Curtis quietly find a work rag among the bins and begin to pick out the grains of sand, the specks of dirt. He worked quickly, but carefully, as not an edge nor a cranny was untouched by the soft cloth until at last the hand appeared clean to the eye.

Then Curtis opened a small compartment at the base of the palm, where, when peering inside, he released a loud sigh of relief.

"Oh thank god..." He said to no one in particular. "Nothing's fried up yet. It's gonna be alright."

"You made that yourself, Howe?" Curtis jumped, having forgotten in his work that Dell remained there. He looked over towards his teacher, who hadn't moved since, and had his eyes on the prosthetic in Curtis's good hand. Curtis turned it over, felt that same unease he always did when someone asked him this, but nodded all the same.

"Y-yeah." He said, voice barely above a whisper. "I've had it for a good while now."

"Hm." Dell turned then, walking over to where he had placed all the sentries they'd been working on, at a back table shoved to the side against a wall where he usually kept all his spare dispensers. Running a finger across one, the blue metal winking back at him with the streak of water, Dell looked back up at Curtis.

"I saw ya built yourself a fan. Ya didn't think to ask me for a spare one?"

Curtis bit at his lower lip, and looked up at the ceiling, where he felt a sense of irony staring at the fan that turned lazily now just around the light bulb that lit up this very room.

"Ya seemed busy, Sir. And well...I figured I might as well learn to do it on my own."

At that, he wasn't quite sure, but he swore he saw the faintest hint of a smile twitch at the edge of Dell's mouth. The man nodded his head. "That's good. Most people woulda just taken the easy route out and asked." A sort of swelling began in Curtis's abdomen, something akin to what he had felt that day, so long ago, when his father had talked to him the day he had died. "You're being resourceful, an' I like that."

"Thank you, Sir." Curtis could hardly hide the stutter, and wasn't sure if it was because the cold was beginning to get to him, and he could feel the skin along his legs crawling, every hair up at end.

But Dell didn't finish, instead turned completely away as he examined each sentry before him, hands kept to his side, and head turning, surveying slowly, before his voice rumbled again, low, and slow, and groaning out much like the fan just above their head:

"You're a good Engineer, Howe, I'll give ya that. Hell, I can tell that each of ya has talent." He turned to Curtis, who watched as Dell too slowly pulled from his hands the work gloves he almost always wore. A big, strong hand with a red scar across the back showed itself, before it grabbed onto the other glove, and revealed something bigger and gray.

Curtis stared at that hand: all mechanics and tubes. A small piece that resembled an engine at the base, with two spouts that looked like miniature smoke stacks. It was surreal, and almost cartoonish in appearance. But something about the sleek, black digits that slowly coiled into a fist unsettled him. And Dell must have noticed this, for he undid the fist and asked Curtis:

"Tell me, Howe, how did ya lose your hand?"

It took a bit before Curtis's mouth moved: "A farming accident. It got caught in a wood chipper."

At that, Dell did smile, a pained, sad little smile as he chuckled darkly, head shaking all the while as he replaced his glove over his own prosthetic. Curtis watched the fabric move before it, fitting snug around the bulging metal pieces. "See that's the difference between you and I, Howe." Dell whispered. "I belong in a place like this; where my humanity ain't much of nothin' anymore, and you havin' all the guts of a baby barely offa his mama's tit."

"Sir?"

"Ya lost your hand in an accident you say." Dell chuckled again, his hand moving and the fingers dancing much like bright yellow snakes before his eyes. "Well I." And his voice almost sounded proud at this point.

"I cut my own off."

* * *

><p>R&amp;R plz~<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

Title: None Were Angels, Chapter 7

Genre: Family, General

Characters: Micheal Hovell, Willy Dalby, and Curtis Howe

Pairings: None

Summary: Oh look, a filler. This one's all about Micheal. If you didn't guess it already, he's a little more important to the story than that background support system for Curtis. Plus I needed an excuse to time skip the bulk of Curtis's training without the use of a montage. Consider this that montage. Just with more underwear. And BATTLES. Apparently people really wanted battle scenes. Well uh, okay. I'm horribly out of practice for battle scenes so this was good to do. I hope it's up to par.

Also that Scout kid. He might be important later too. Maybe. Possibly. Hint: He is.

Unfortunately this is shorter compared to the other chapters because it is a filler. Sorry about that, I wish I could update more than just once a month at the least.

Again, all chapters are still unedited for the most part and will remain that way until I get the bulk of them done and I have the time.

Disclaimers: I don't own TF2 stuff, that belongs to Valve. IB

* * *

><p>2Fort, 1970<p>

In a way, Micheal likened the enemies he faced in battle to ants.

It wasn't meant to be an insult, nor was it a slur meant to somehow justify his occupation. It was only because he watched them all from far away in a far up loft where he was out of sight and out of mind for the most part. (At least until he put a bullet through someone from the distance).

It reminded him of a song someone had sung to him once, a silly children's song another Sniper he knew hummed during battle every time he had fired at someone. "The ants go marching two by two..." Micheal licked his lips as he forgot the rest and then shot again. He watched a RED Demoman crumble to his knees before the RED Fortress.

That other Sniper had left the fort a long time ago, and had been sent off to Coldfront, from what Micheal had been told. Shame really, he'd been a nice guy. Even if he did get this damn song stuck in his head now.

Looking down from his window ledge at all the smaller figures in either red or blue, Micheal concluded that the reds, well, they were definitely fire ants; that crawled up your legs and bit and bit until you felt the venom build up enough you felt you were dieing.

Only these ants could really kill you, and in rather creative ways. Kill you with bullets and rockets and... Micheal quickly ducked at the sight of a red light scanning over his head, a hole filling the wall behind him just as he did. The man glanced up from where he sat in place, rifle taught against his chest, towards the hole and whistled.

"That would've given me one 'ell o' a headache." He chortled, before scooting forward. Work was to be done, and if there had been anything he'd been taught upon entering this place (aside from some silly children's song that just wouldn't go away now, damn it all), it was that you were a professional. A professional with a huge gun that shot at people's heads from far away, but a professional nonetheless.

So Micheal waited, eyes flicking back towards the wall to watch that red dot make it's languid tracing above him and towards the right.

Then the gunner must be on the left, he supposed. And immediately he shot up to take aim in the same direction. Through his scope, he watched the red ants dashing across the field, but none with a rifle. Just red wood and brick and...a dot of similar color suddenly moved towards him from a very different angle than he had supposed. Well, that wasn't good-

"Get down!" Micheal gave a grunt at the command, before he was shoved to lay splayed upon the wooden floor of his nesting spot. A BLU Scout followed suit, and he frowned down at Micheal's bewildered expression as another hole embedded into the wood where his head had been.

The Sniper blinked, still a tad dazed, before smiling up at his rescuer. "Oi. Thought you'd be on the other side by now, Willy."

The Scout sighed and quickly rolled to sit up just outside of the enemy Sniper's careful watch. The red light was dancing just over head, a mere hair's breadth apart. Willy paid it no mind and merely ran a hand over his face, an exasperated sigh following it. "I was..." He told Micheal. "But they've got, like, three Engineers protecting it right now." With an awkward grimace, he shook his head. "No way we're gonna be winning this round if we don't get more offense, or at least a decent Spy."

Micheal only chuckled as he began to edge once more towards the window. "Sounds to me like RED got tired o' losin'."

"This really isn't the time to be joking, Micheal."

"Oh. It's alright, Willy. M' almost always serious." He watched the red dot scan once again, and this time set himself at his haunches ever so slightly. The moment it glanced over and away, Micheal stood and aimed. A pair of aviators stared back at him, the man behind them barely acknowledging him until a second too late. A spray of red spurt from between the man's eyes, and he fell unceremoniously to the side, his legs splaying at an odd angle against the wooden boxes he'd been seeking protection with.

One of Micheal's nostrils lifted as he sniffed, and he lowered the rifle once more to look back at the Scout now standing there, watching with some sort of bemused expression on his face.

"I know 'm a beaut," Micheal joked. "But ye really might wanna get yer arse back o'er there sooner rather than later."

"Just been awhile." Willy scoffed. He squatted again as he saw another RED Sniper appear, rifle at the ready. Micheal shot on instinct, and clicked his tongue with annoyance as the other managed to get out of the way in time. He yanked at the bolt and let the cartridge fall quickly before clicking it back into place as his next round reloaded. The man behind him managed to slink past and towards the inner most portion of the fort again. Once behind the wall and safe from scope and sight, he turned around.

"Don't get killed too many times, now."

Micheal didn't answer, so stuck in his scope he was, before he pulled at the trigger and he watched the RED Sniper fall yet again. By the time he chanced a glance where his friend had been, Willy was already gone.

He let out another sniff. It _had_ been awhile, chatting for a little bit longer would've been nice.

But, again, Micheal lifted his scope to his face to watch the red ants up close, and he shot at their scurrying little legs or their bobbing heads, some of them helmeted, as they came into view. Two Pyros must have been at it not too far off, for the sight of smoke quickly spewed skyward, and it carried with it the ridiculously strong stench of burning rubber and flesh. It ruined his sights, and he had to roll out of the way to try and get a better view.

"The ants go marching two by two..." he hummed as he watched the two Pyros spiral into view. The red one was safe behind a wooden post of the bridge, just a little farther and he'd be...

Micheal's eyes lit up as the color red was flashing once more in front of his face.

"Oh piss-."

The loud cracking echo of a rifle was the last thing he heard before it all went still.

At Micheal's next moment of conscious thought, he was standing in the middle of a white tiled room, staring ahead at the wall before him. The only exit laid ahead: a metal gate that automatically opened at anyone's approach. And he knew all too well it opened again into the fighting he had such a brief relief from.

There was a dinging, which sounded all too much like a cooking timer, and another form appeared beside Micheal. It was a Demoman, who's reaction was much faster than Micheal's, as he sped out the gates and back into the fray without so much as a second thought or a moment's breath.

Micheal watched him from where he stood eyes half hazy as the gate swept open with a hushed 'swish', and then clanged close.

On habit his fingers reached up to touch at his head where, only seconds before, a gaping hole had brought with it his death. The hole was gone now, as always, at the respawn's doing.

The respawn was such a strange thing, Micheal thought, as his finger slowly traced from his forehead down his face to fall at his side. It brushed against the wooden handle of his knife, which he kept in a satchel tied to his leg, and he wrapped his fingers about it, drawing it as he approached the gate and ran back into the battle.

The battlements of the fortresses were simple in all stretches of the imagination. In between the two buildings, each of their respective color, lay a man-made chasm dug into the earth. A simple bridge over this appeared to be the only means of crossing over, and like the buildings themselves, it too looked worn and burnt at the edges. Bullet holes riddled the surfaces and right now, in the middle of a battle there were curious red stains splashed across it.

Micheal was not taking the bridge, however. Once he'd found himself again at his prior location, an upper floor the mercenaries often referred to as "the nest", and located his rifle on the floor; he took it in hand and made his way into the inner part of the fort. Past the respawn room, and past a sentry set up near it to protect the respawned from any whom would fancy to strike at them in their post-death haze.

He came to a set of stairs that lead underground and into a sewer route built deep within the fortress. Micheal tread them, knife at the ready just in case, the sounds of explosions and gunshots from just above were muffled and about as loud as the quiet echo of dripping water. But it was no reason for him to rest easy just yet.

The fingers holding onto his knife twitched slightly as he rounded a corner, preparing himself for anything RED that might have too thought to sneak themselves through this route. He twisted his head, and at first sight saw nothing. He stepped down from the bottom of the stairs into ankle deep water, and stopped at the sight of red chunks bobbing this way and that.

They were fresh, and far too gone to tell if they'd been wearing any color at all. Micheal picked himself up and set forward through the red tinted sewage anyways, not finding himself any trouble despite the grim sign as he trudged through concrete passageways that opened up to the bottom of the chasm, just beneath the bridge. Ahead of him lay an identical opening that would lead him right into the basement level of the red base, but Micheal chose not to take that. Opting instead to move into the water, which now swallowed up his upper thighs as the floor dipped further downward and then he pinned himself to the back of the concrete wall just behind him.

His knife had been long since put away, set aside for his hands to take up the rifle again. He was careful to keep it out of the water, having carried it over his shoulders even now as the cold water began to creep further up with every step he took to the side.

It was a hard angle, but there was a definite coverage with it, accompanied with an element of surprise that simply begged to be used.

Micheal's lip curled into a half smile as he saw the RED Sniper now, along with a RED Soldier moving out of the building. Putting the scope up to his eye, he could see his helmeted head even better. With the pull of a trigger it no longer rested fully upon the man's shoulders, half of it splattered on the ground just behind where the body had fallen.

Everyone searched for Snipers in high places at first take, Micheal knew, and as he had expected, the RED Sniper he'd been avoiding was doing just that. He hadn't noticed the blue dot that moved from down below until the RED too joined his comrade, and the respawn would take a hold of either of them.

It was a short lived victory, however, for as soon as another kill was racked up onto his score did the chilling voice he and every BLU on that field recognize all too well speak up:

"The enemy has taken our intelligence."

Micheal cursed softly at the warning from the ominous voice echoing out through to him and his team. His finger reached to press at the small tool placed in his ear, a miniature communications device, but nothing else came of it other than some Soldier yelling commands to find and defeat the thief who had taken their intel.

It was a joined shuffle to find the one responsible for taking the briefcase, and almost at once a chase had begun after a RED Scout who had somehow managed to slink past the defenses and slip back out into the open with the blue property on his back. Micheal watched him through the scope of his rifle, taking aim without hesitation just as a leg came into view.

With a loud crack, Micheal felt the pull of respawn yet again before awakening to see white tile.

"Aw piss." He huffed again, rubbing at the side of his face where the bullet had hit him. The RED Sniper had found him all too soon for his taste, and at the worst possible time too. Micheal had barely breached past the respawn gate when the outraged cry of: "YOU LOSE" echoed into his ear, making him pull at the tiny gadget with a start.

There were, naturally, jeers from his fellow BLUs as they moved to leave the battlements behind them as soon as possible. It was with good reason Micheal knew, as he could already feel his rifle automatically jamming as it did with every loss, and his knife completely missing from it's satchel.

It was a cruel game for both the losing and winning sides, he supposed, as he made his way to hide among the rest of them. Those who won had precisely a minute to kill anyone of the opposite color should they choose, and left the losers like a herd of cattle to be picked at from. Despite the respawn being there to pick them up, Micheal, like any other of his team, found himself with a distaste for being hunted down like a wild animal without a single means of defense.

Micheal found the Sniper's nest to be a good spot to hide. Most of the REDs were too far to get in there by the time the limit struck. And so long as he hid from any vengeful shots at him, he would be safe.

As he thought, the enemy Sniper was awaiting for anyone who was foolish enough to run across his vision: the red dot moving its way along the wall in slow, almost liquid like motions. Micheal kept an eye on it from just behind the metal wall erected to the side of the nest. It was a flimsy sheet of junk, he knew, but it was a good piece of junk that had saved his life on more than one occasion. The bullet holes that riddled it were a constant reminder of this. Out of the corner of his eye, he attempted to pry a peek through one of these holes in the middle of the wall, but found himself only starting at the roof of the bridge.

Then it all happened in a manner of seconds. He heard the footsteps on that very same bridge top, and at once Micheal felt his heart hammer in his chest. A Scout class might have jumped up onto the sloping top just outside. He'd seen Scouts of either class jump before; they were perfectly capable of making the landing from the roof right onto the ledge of the nesting spot where he hid now. And they were fast, as the job required; too fast for even a long-legged man such as himself to out run.

Micheal chanced a look through the hole again to see blue, rather than red, and immediately relief swelled up into his belly. It was only Willy, who must have been escaping from the RED base the quickest route he knew. He leaned forward slightly to watch as his lithe friend took the leap and without much trouble at all, landed nimbly at the edge of the nest's ledge, looking haggard and scrambling to hide, and fast.

Then there was another shot echoing in the air and Micheal watched as the Scout fell, clutching onto the back of his leg with a cry, before toppling backwards and falling over.

Quickly Micheal lurched forward and grabbed at the hands that flailed for leverage. They held onto one another, the Scout's eyes bright with shock and fear as he glanced up at Micheal, who stared back down in all appearances, quite similarly.

"Not really the time t' be hangin' 'round 'ere, don't ye think, Mate?" Micheal growled as he struggled to pull the other's weight up onto the ledge. One hand clapped down to wrap about the smaller male's wrist, and in Micheal's hands, Willy's grip only tightened about his fingers.

"Micheal! Duck down!" The Scout screamed just as the red light flashed before the Sniper's gaze.

There was a ringing in his ears as Micheal felt the bullet pass by his face, and a slight burn along the bone of his cheek where he'd been scratched. Dust picked up from the skidding of his feet as he backed away, pulling Willy up with him, and from the hole in the wall just behind him. Then above the ringing came a low whistle that indicated a ceasefire.

Across the field Micheal watched the RED Sniper slowly raise his rifle again; eyes still fixated upon the two BLUs flopped back in their nest. It would be simple to kill them both from here, and Micheal knew they were literally 'sitting ducks' if that was what the phrase called it.

And yet he couldn't move, his eyes still staring out towards the RED enemy of the same profession. The same enemy he'd seen to killing numerous times over the course of their fight that had ended only moments earlier. He swore the other's eyes were still burning right through the scope as he eyed Micheal and Willy up, and Micheal could almost feel their trigger finger twitching to release.

Yet the RED's rifle lowered, and the man turned on his heel to move back into his own fort, just as the others emerged from the BLU Fortress, covered in blood or not, to return to their own places until they were needed again.

Micheal watched them march on, not yet fully realizing what he was doing until Willy had tried to walk on his bad leg and cried out in pain when he'd put too much weight on the bullet wound.

"Oh." Micheal breathed, placing his hat, which had flown off when he'd been shot at, back over his head. He moved to Willy's side and pulled the Scout's arm to rest upon him, which was taken gratefully, Willy immediately leaned into it and hissed again.

"Shit, this hurts."

"I'd expect it's no walk in the park, there. Jes lean on me alright?" A nod was his answer as he laced another arm around Willy's torso, and took to helping the limping man back into the living quarters of the fortress.

Once past the battlements area was a short exit to the Medic ward; the usually cleanly atmosphere seemingly busy with more than just a few patients. Each chair in the waiting hall was occupied, those who did not sit took to leaning against the wall or standing. If they could stand yet, anyways.

More victims of the minute long hunt, Micheal supposed, as he pushed past some of the more intact-looking ones to bring Willy forward, already alerting a Medic from one of the offices. Upon one glance at the blood seeping through Willy's pants, the doctor demanded for a gurney to be brought.

"Put him on." The man commanded once it was delivered, and Micheal did just that, lifting the Scout despite Willy's outright protests and placing him onto the top.

"Sheesh!" Willy gasped, sitting up onto his elbows at once. The Medic didn't motion to move him into another room, and rather, used a pair of scissors to rip open the bloody leg of his pants right there besides the other waiting patients. "If this is how you handle the wounded, Man," Willy grunted towards Micheal. "I'd hate to see how you handle a woman."

"With all the grace n' charm I've got in me, Mate." Micheal replied a wry smile coming across his features just as the Medic began to talk: something about the bullet being lodged in still, and needing to operate right there. He left for a bit before returning, a long needle now within his hand.

Micheal could only watch sympathetically for the smaller male as he watched the Medic all too quickly stab it into Willy's thigh before the Scout could protest. Willy howled at the sudden sharp pain in his leg, his arms gave way as he flailed them, and the back of his head sharply struck the gurney as he fell into it.

"Dammit that hurts!" He hissed between his teeth.

"Oh, I'm sorry." The Medic didn't look up from his work, hands already fishing for a scalpel. "Did that sting?" He muttered a few other crash words as he fingered through his instruments.

Micheal reached and patted at the Scout to which Willy could only respond with a roll of his eyes. He hissed, and then whimpered, as the Medic had finally produced the scalpel he'd been searching for and begun to cut into the flesh around the bullet wound without warning.

"Thanks for saving my ass back there, Micheal." Willy muttered as the Medic worked, before his body flinched again and he had to bite back a sob. "You didn't have to, you know."

"Couldn't leave ya hangin'." Micheal could only shrug, smiling as the Scout chuckled dryly up at him.

"Your jokes still suck, you know that?" He hissed again; face visibly flinching as the Medic gave a cry before he triumphantly held out the bullet for all to see. The patients, as well as Micheal and Willy, all glanced away from its blood soaked surface, gleaming in the fluorescent lights behind it.

"Now we can stitch you up." The Medic said. "Where is a medi-gun? Someone bring me a medi gun!"

Willy sighed. "Oh thank God." His eyes shifted back towards Micheal, who'd been standing beside the gurney all along, watching the scenes behind tired eyes.

"Hey Man." He smiled. "You should go get some sleep. I'll be fine."

"Ye sure?" Micheal backed away as the Scout moved to jab a bony elbow into his side. Both grunted with strained laughter, Willy's more or less pained as he lay himself back down quietly.

"Yeah. I'm a big boy, you don't need to take care of me anymore. Besides…" They both looked up to see the Medic reappearing, his medi gun in hand. Instantly Willy was coated with a blue glow from it, relief washing across his features. "I hear you've got a new roommate who's tolerated you for almost a month now. Going for a record?"

"Must be." Micheal snorted, and then he yawned. The adrenaline rush from his battle had worn out more quickly than he had thought. And the Medic ward was still quite full, already rushing in more patients from the battle into rooms that were occupied only moments earlier. And perhaps a fight had broken out in the cafeteria, for he'd been shoved aside to bring in a Soldier with what he was sure resembled a fork sticking out of his hand. It'd be best to be out of the way. Micheal turned to go, stopping only once he'd made it to the door, stepping aside for another man with some kind of utensil stuck in his shoulder blade.

"When you've got the time, ye should come talk again, Blue-y."

Willy turned his face towards Micheal and smirked. "I'd like that, Big guy."

* * *

><p>Tapi was making it very clear to Micheal, once he returned to the room Curtis and himself shared, that she was not going to have him falling asleep on her until she was satisfied with it.<p>

She continued to squawk and call at him, rattling the bars of her cage even as he flopped himself unceremoniously onto his bunk with a sigh. From atop his mattress, Micheal stared down at the bird.

"Can't ye 'ave a heart there, Shiela?" He half-muttered into his blankets. "Can't ye let this poor bloke rest 'is eyes a tad?"

She continued to rattle at the bars.

"A'right. A'right. I get it." Micheal yawned, swung his long legs over the side of the bed, and slid down to come to the cage. "Yer goin' t' let me die young, aren't ye? Die o' exhaustion huh? Ye greedy lil minx." He chuckled as he opened the cage door, and the bird took to climbing up his fingers to his hand, and eventually up his arm where she settled to bite and nibble at the scruff growing along the bone of his chin.

"Oh no, that's not gonna work on me, not this act. Not this time." Micheal tried to suppress another yawn. His fingers pinched at his eyes, a feeble act to wipe away the fatigue that plagued him now. Tapi craned her neck to flick her tongue at this knuckles as he did this, and he had to laugh softly.

"Yer lucky yer a sight better than the other birds." His voice deepened as he crooned so softly at her. "Ye know that right?" Tapi moved a wing before her face, and he laughed harder at the sudden act of bashfulness before he moved to find her food, only to step over a good pile of dirty laundry of which had been building up for some time now the past week.

Micheal's gaze spanned the room: with the last month of his training approaching, Curtis had been neglecting the care of a few of his tools. And they now lay strewn somewhere amidst the sea of dirty laundry, accompanied by various old letters Micheal hadn't the heart to throw away. A good layer of dust had accumulated on the desk and the curtains too, he noted, pinching some of the gray matter from where he stood. He sneezed at it, and nodded towards Tapi on his shoulders, who had begun to groom at her own wings.

"I think ye got the right idea there, Shiela." He spoke. "We need a good cleanin in 'ere is what we need."

Tapi clicked her beak.

"Best get to it then," Micheal moved towards a broom he'd kept behind the desk. "'fore Curtis comes back from trainin'."

But Curtis managed to make his way back up to the dormitories far before Micheal could have expected. Sore and tired, the Engineer in training found himself outside his bedroom door, overhearing the sounds of some kind of jazzy overture playing inside. Micheal had a radio, he knew, but the two could never agree on songs to listen to and simply never used it.

But it wasn't what alerted him to yank open the door, rather, a sudden bang from inside, followed by a howl and the radio stopping short caused Curtis to worry and he rushed in to see what had happened. But upon doing this he found Micheal holding onto his foot, the long radio cord strung around the same ankle, and the radio laying on the floor before him. From across the room Tapi sat up from her perch on the curtain rail, and called out at Curtis from where he stood in the door way.

"Oh, didn't expect ye back so soon there, Mate." Micheal straightened himself up, idly kicking the cords about his feet away.

Curtis's stare broke at that, and he shook his head, rubbing fingers through the sticky, sweaty bristle atop it. "Micheal..." He said. "What were you doin' here anyways?"

"Oh. Cleanin'." Curtis noted the broom handle in Micheal's hand then, the other man idly moving it from one to the other. "Thought I might as well since Tapi won' let me sleep. She's a good girl, alright, but a bit picky with when the lights should be turned off ye know-"

Curtis interrupted. "In your underwear? You were cleanin' in your underwear?"

"Din't want me clothes to get dirty." Micheal shrugged. "Or maybe it was because I din't want te get the rest o' the room dirty. I was covered up in some nasty stuff; battle n' all."

Curtis sighed, shaking his head as he watched his roommate pluck the radio from the floor, and place it back atop the small dresser they shared. Micheal turned the dial until at last another jazzy song came on, and, with a slight spring in his step, he set to sweeping once more. Curtis, however, being as he was, did not appreciate the sight of a grown man he hardly knew dancing about in his unmentionables with a broom in hand. He turned off the radio, and stopped Micheal from galloping over to the laundry pile. The taller man halted in mid pose, and turned back around to Curtis.

"Yes?"

"Micheal. You know how you told me you had trouble keepin' a roommate before?"

Micheal's face fell, and his fingers tightened around the broom handle. "Sure." He hoped his voice didn't sound all too obvious. "What about it?"

"...you ever stop to think this might've been why?"

"Oh. No, actually." Micheal laughed. "It was probably because I sleep in the nude."

Curtis grimaced. "I've been your roommate for almost a month now." He said. "I've never seen you naked."

"Thas because 'm good." Micheal waggled his fingers at Curtis. "Like a Spook, only in me birthday suit."

Micheal waited for the short response that he was sure would follow such a remark. But the man across from him only grew quiet. Then out of nowhere, a laugh surfaced; a soft, raspy kind of laugh that fit a shy guy like him.

Micheal watched Curtis turn and press the button to the radio back on, before he motioned at the laundry pile Micheal had been aiming to do next.

"I'll take that downstairs... save the world the image I'm lookin' at right now."

It was a joke he hadn't expected from the quiet man, coming from a side of him that Micheal had not seen yet, even amid all those timid laughs he'd managed out of someone so usually solemn.

"Yer takin' a service from the world is what ye mean, there, Mate." Micheal prodded back, to which, Curtis only could shake his head, grunting as he began to pick up the clothes at their feet.

"I think I'm goin' to start sleepin' with my goggles on, if it's all the same to you." He said. Micheal laughed this time and clapped at Curtis's back before he moved to sweep yet again. The radio played a lively song in the background, to which his feet tapped in tune to, humming all the while as his fingers strummed along the handle of the broom in hand.

"...Go marchin' two by two..." Micheal half sang, before he stopped himself suddenly and glanced up at Tapi. "Bugger." He said. "Stupid song's still in me head!

* * *

><p>AN: R&R please~

Unfortunately I've hit a writer's block I think. Pretty "meh" with this story, and this site in general. Don't know when I'll be back, but toodles anyways.


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